Page 121 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

45

JOY

The final night of Yuletide Fest was supposed to be my triumphant victory lap. All the weeks of planning, coordinating, and problem-solving were culminating in one magical evening that would send families home with memories to last a lifetime. I stood in the town square surrounded by twinkling lights and the cheerful chaos of a successful community event, trying to summon the professional satisfaction I should have been feeling.

The truth was, I didn’t want the city job anymore. The events coordinator position that had seemed like my ticket to staying in Calton Hill permanently now felt like a consolation prize. But my aunt had vouched for me, and regardless of my personal feelings about my future here, the festival was important. It was part of the town’s DNA, woven into the fabric of what made this place special.

As annoying as small-town life could be—the gossip, the way everyone knew everyone’s business, the complete inability to have a private romantic crisis—there was a magic to Calton Hill that you couldn’t find anywhere else. I’d be damned if I let my inability to navigate my love life steal that magic from the community.

I wanted to make sure these people got the festival they deserved. And even though I had no intention of sticking around to plan the next one, I hoped they would remember this night. When my name was mentioned in gossip circles, I wanted it to be this they talked about.

Not me and Cooper. Or the insinuation I was a homewrecker. Which apparently was the consensus. It was so hard not to jump and scream and defend myself. But it wouldn’t make a difference. It would only add fuel to the fire.

I had to keep my mouth shut and keep a smile on my face. Anything else would just create more drama. So, when I heard his name or Lynn’s, I just kept smiling. I would not let them get me fired up. I had barely seen Cooper at all. He was suddenly MIA. Oddly enough, so was his ex-fiancée. My old friend. I didn’t even want to think what that meant.

The choir had assembled near the gazebo, their red scarves bright against the winter evening, voices warming up in preparation for their final performance. The vendor booths glowed with soft light and families browsed the remaining Christmas crafts and treats that were discounted for the last day. Children’s laughter echoed across the square.

Everything was perfect except for one crucial element that I was hoping to resolve quickly. Pat Samson, our Santa extraordinaire, was supposed to have arrived fifteen minutes ago.

The line for Santa’s workshop was already looping around Main Street, stretching past the post office and curving back toward the diner. I frowned, immediately seeing the problem through Cooper’s safety-conscious eyes. The line was blocking pedestrian walkways, creating potential bottlenecks that could become dangerous if people needed to move quickly.

I wished he was here. I didn’t know where he was, and I was definitely not going to text and ask him. And I hated it.

Cooper had become my anchor. His calm competence and methodical problem-solving had gotten me through countless festival challenges over the past few weeks.

But Cooper wasn’t here. He was respecting the space I had asked for, staying away while I finished out the festival. Which meant I had to handle this latest crisis on my own. Whatever job I landed in, I would be doing it without him. Might as well start now.

I approached the front of the line, where a family with three young children was growing visibly impatient.

“Excuse me, folks,” I called out, raising my voice to address the entire group. “I need everyone to move to the left side of the street, please. We want to keep the walkway clear for safety.”

There was some grumbling, but people generally complied, reorganizing themselves along the sidewalk and spilling onto the snow-covered grass of the town green. To smooth any ruffled feathers, I gestured toward the hot chocolate station.

“While we’re getting everything set up, please help yourselves to complimentary cocoa,” I announced. “And I heard a rumor that Santa’s workshop has some extra special surprises tonight for good little boys and girls.”

That got the children’s attention immediately. A little girl with pigtails tugged on my coat.

“Is Santa really coming?” she asked, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Of course he is,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “Are you excited to see him? What are you going to ask for this year?”

“I want a rocket pony,” she declared seriously.

“A rocket pony?” I repeated, delighted despite my stress. “That sounds amazing. Fast and sparkly?”

“Super fast. And it can fly to the moon.”

Wish lists looked a lot different these days. I remember I wanted a stick with a horse head on it. That thing wasn’t going to the front door let alone the moon.

A boy behind her piped up. “I want a baby walrus. My mom said they’re cute and squishy.”

“They are very cute,” I agreed. “Though they might need a pretty big tank.”

Again, I was beginning to think I was just a little too basic in my own Christmas wishes. Barbie dolls and purses were clearly old news.

“I want my own cotton candy machine,” announced another child.

I smiled. “That would be super cool. Make sure you ask for a bulk pack of toothbrushes.”