Page 28 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

9

JOY

The corner table was mine.

I staked it out the second I walked into Black Bear Coffee, flashing my best “important business” smile at the barista and plopping my tote bag right in the middle of the big, round wooden surface like it was a flag planted on a new continent.

I realized after the fact I wasn’t in New York. There weren’t going to be a hundred people vying for my table. It was going to take me a while to shift back into small-town living. I never really paid a lot of attention to the differences until I was back.

Going to New York had been a shock, but everything had been so exciting and new. It was a different world. I got used to things. I ate it up. I actually kind of loved riding the subway. Didn’t necessarily love the smell of urine, but you got used to it.

But now that I was back home, it was night and day. How could these two places even be on the same continent? Everything was different. The vibe. The people. The mood. Everything.

All around me, the shop hummed with holiday energy. Pine garlands draped the shelves, twinkle lights looped around the chalkboard menu, and Bing Crosby crooned from the speakers. The air smelled like roasted beans, peppermint syrup, and cinnamon scones. Normally, I would have loved it. Today, it just made me nervous.

Because this wasn’t a cozy cocoa date. This was my first official planning meeting with the safety officer Mayor Sally had assigned to me.

And okay, yes, part of me was annoyed. A babysitter? Really? But pride wasn’t worth kids slipping on ice or extension cords shorting out because I had missed some technical detail. I knew how to pitch. How to advertise. I could write copy and adjust color schemes on a marketing tool. I didn’t do field work. The extent of my holiday decorating in my apartment was putting the two-foot pre-lit tree in my window. There wasn’t much room for anything else.

I loved Christmas but I didn’t love Christmas. I wasn’t the silly earrings and Santa hat wearing type. In New York, my friends and I went out to the club. We had dinners together. It wasn’t anything like the Norman Rockwell painting I stepped into.

If I was being honest, I could admit I needed all the help I could get.

So I had prepped like I was going into a marketing campaign pitch. I had to pitch my ideas to the safety officer. I had made neat folders, schedules for each event, timelines for setting up, even a color-coded chart that made me look like the kind of person who had her life together.

Which, spoiler alert, I was not.

I set the folders in a tidy fan on the table, took a sip of my latte, and rehearsed my opening line in my head. Something professional. Something like: Thank you for being here, I’m looking forward to collaborating.

Instead, the bell over the door jingled and in walked Cooper Frost.

I froze, my latte halfway to my lips.

No. Nope. I was not dealing with his shit today. I had too much on my mind. I could not allow myself to be distracted or flustered by him.

He hadn’t spotted me yet. He was just looking around the shop. Probably looking for something to bitch about. The poor barista was about to get a ten-minute lecture from Mr. Know-it-all.

And then that hard gaze landed on me.

I shot him my best glare. That was something I had perfected on all my trips on the subway. I learned how to scare off assholes and those annoying wannabe Wall Street guys with a single look. It was the New Yorker stare. At least, that was what I dubbed it when I first moved there and I was on the receiving end of that look more than once.

He ignored my warning look and walked toward me.

I flapped my hand at him in a shooing motion. “No, no, no. Absolutely not. I’m waiting for someone. Take your lecture somewhere else. I am not doing anything wrong. I’m sitting here drinking my latte. No one is in danger.”

He looked at the little spread I had on the table. It felt like he was peeking in my bedroom window.

I slapped my hand over one of the folders. “Go away, Cooper. I’m waiting on someone.”

One dark brow arched. “Yeah. Me.”

My stomach dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Trust me, Murphy. I didn’t volunteer for this gig.”

“Oh no.” My voice came out strangled. “You’re the safety officer?”

“Afraid so.”