Page 11 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

The truck pulled up in front of the school. Kids went berserk, jumping and waving like they’d summoned Santa himself. And then the first firefighter climbed down from the truck, and my humiliation found brand-new depths.

Of course. Of all the firefighters in this town, it had to be him.

Cooper Frost.

My lungs forgot how to function for a second. In his coat, his shoulders looked broader than I remembered. His jaw was just as sharp, his sandy hair just as unfairly good. Cooper Frost, my high school crush. The one I could never have because he was my best friend’s brother. The one I had spent years carefully avoiding while secretly daydreaming about him anyway.

“Oh my,” Aunt Victoria said in a delighted whisper. “Is that little Cooper Frost?”

I choked. “Do not call him little.”

There was nothing little about the man. My God.

I thought boys stopped growing at sixteen. I was certain he must have had a growth spurt after I left.

He was huge.

She grinned like a cat. “I haven’t seen him since he was all knees and elbows.”

“Well, he’s not knees and elbows anymore,” I hissed.

My face felt hot despite the cold. The fire alarm had gone mercifully silent behind us, but my embarrassment was just warming up. Cooper was striding across the snow with a purpose, two additional firemen behind him.

And me? I did what any rational adult woman would do in this situation.

I ducked behind a snowman.

The snowman was short and lumpy, leaning to one side, with two rocks for eyes. I crouched behind it anyway, hoping maybe Cooper would be too distracted by the children to notice the idiot who caused this.

Aunt Victoria’s laughter floated over the snow. “Joy, you’re hiding.”

“No, I’m… inspecting this snowman,” I muttered from behind its crooked head. “Very professional coordinator thing to do.”

She just chuckled.

I peeked over the snowman’s rounded shoulder. Cooper was kneeling now, talking to a kid who pointed dramatically at the school building. He listened, nodded, then stood, sweeping his gaze across the snowy playground.

I ducked again.

If he saw me, if he realized it was me who set off the alarm with bad cocoa making, I might actually combust.

Some crushes faded. Some high school embarrassments turned blurry with time and distance. But Cooper Frost? He had been the sun in my teenage solar system. Too bright to look at directly, too far out of reach. And now he was very real and very close. And the first impression I got to give him as an adult was that I was still a klutz and I nearly burned down a school.

Not the best setting for a reunion.