Page 20 of Babies for the Christmas Grump

The scent of mulled wine and cinnamon mingles in the air. Music plays, soft, upbeat jazz, while a group of locals crowd around the hot toddy bar, eagerly lining up for whatever overpriced concoction Sunny’s turned into an event.

I wasn’t planning on sticking around, at least not for long. I wasn’t going to stand here and pretend I was enjoying myself.

Not when the finances are in the state they’re in. Not when I know the mountain of problems still waiting for me tomorrow.

But damn it, I’m here.

And I can’t help but notice that the lobby is packed.

I expected a handful of people. Maybe a few regulars came in out of sheer curiosity.

But no. The place is full.

People are laughing, chatting, and looking at the décor as though they’ve stumbled into a Christmas wonderland. There’s Pearl, tipsy and giggling while flirting with a fireman.

Chef Andre, who I’m pretty sure is allergic to smiling, is actually smiling as he hands out a tray of gingerbread samples to a group of tourists.

Sunny’s cat, Tinsel, is wearing a Santa hat. Of course, she shakes it off within seconds, but the image still gets a chuckle out of me.

Sunny’s makeshift charm offensive, it seems, is working.

And there she is, moving through the crowd with that effortless grace of hers. In a red sweater dress, her hair loose and falling around her shoulders, laughing as she engages with everyone she passes.

I’ve never seen Sunny like this before. Enthusiastic, unfocused, a little chaotic, but tonight there’s something different. There’s an energy to her that’s undeniable. She’s the heart of this place. Every person she talks to, every smile she receives, seems to ignite the room.

The whole hotel feels alive in a way it hasn’t in years.

I watch her as she flits from one group to another, making small talk with a couple of out-of-towners and then turning to greet the local baker who just arrived with her chocolate cookies.

She’s the perfect hostess, even when the logistics are a mess and the budget is hanging on by a thread. There’s no sign of the stress I know she’s been under. The mess has been transformed into something tangible. Warm.

Wow.

She might be able to pull this off.

The hotel is quieter now, with the once-bustling lobby leaving only the faintest echoes of laughter and the smell of cinnamon still lingering.

The aftermath of the Tinsel and Toddy event is a bit of a blur.

A blur of good intentions, slightly disheveled staff, and a sense of something that could be the start of something bigger.

I slip into the kitchen, hoping to escape the noise. The last remnants of holiday cheer have settled, and I need a moment to breathe.

Then, of course, I see her.

Sunny’s bent over the counter, cleaning up, the flicker of the overhead lights casting long shadows across the kitchen. For a moment, I just watch.

She looks every bit the part of a woman who has thrown herself into something without thinking twice. Her hair wild, her face flushed, and that look in her eyes. Determined, in a way that draws me to her.

It’s a look I haven’t seen from her before, and it stops me in my tracks.

She doesn’t notice me at first, too absorbed in wiping down the counter, but when she finally does, her eyes meet mine with that same light: half exhaustion, half triumph.

She smiles, but it’s not the playful grin she usually gives me. This one feels real.

Earned.

“That was something,” I say, breaking the silence.