Page 42 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

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COOPER

I’d been standing at the edge of the crowd for the better part of an hour, telling myself I was just keeping an eye on things. Making sure the electrical setup stayed stable. Watching for any signs of trouble with the tree or the lighting system. You know, community safety stuff.

Complete bullshit, of course. I was watching Joy.

She’d been a blur of motion since the moment she arrived, clipboard in one hand, walkie-talkie in the other, somehow managing to be in twelve places at once. Every time I thought about walking over to say hello, she’d disappear into another crisis. I thought about suggesting she delegate some of the organizing duties, but I didn’t think she would appreciate my advice.

Someone was complaining the food truck was blocking her store’s view of the tree. I didn’t say it, but Joy very kindly told her the food truck placement was temporary. It wasn’t going to be parked there forever. The whole square had been transformed into something magical, which was saying something because I was still allergic to all this Christmas cheer.

Strings of lights crisscrossed between the lampposts, casting everything in a warm golden glow. The coffee cart that had been there yesterday was back, along with a hot chocolate stand, a booth selling roasted nuts that smelled like heaven, and Matt’s beloved turkey leg vendor, who was indeed making people look like festive Vikings.

Kids were everywhere, running between the adults with the kind of boundless energy that made me feel ancient at twenty-seven. They were chasing each other around the trees, making snow angels in the real snow that bordered the fake snow around our Christmas tree, and shrieking with laughter every time someone started an impromptu snowball fight.

“Slow down!” I caught myself starting to say as a group of them raced past me, then clamped my mouth shut. They were just being kids. Happy, carefree kids who didn’t know yet that life could sucker punch you when you least expected it.

And I did not want to be the old guy shouting at people to get off his lawn.

I remembered being that age. Back when Christmas was pure magic and the worst thing that could happen was not finding the present you wanted under the tree. Before I learned that sometimes the people you love most can walk away without warning. Before I discovered that hope could turn to devastation in the span of a single conversation.

I can’t do this, Cooper. I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I can’t.

Lynn’s words still echoed in my head sometimes, especially during the holidays. The way she looked at me like I was a stranger, like the past three years had meant nothing to her. Like the ring I’d saved six months to buy was just a pretty piece of jewelry she didn’t want.

Maybe I was just a busted ornament on life’s Christmas tree. Something that looked fine from a distance but fell apart the moment someone tried to hang their hopes on it. She wanted more than I could give her.

It would have been nice if she could have figured that out before we did the whole wedding thing. I was convinced she had been going for maximum humiliation. It worked.

“Try a turkey leg,” Matt insisted.

I grimaced when I saw grease on his chin. “Dude. Get a napkin.”

He pushed me. “Stop being a dick. Just try one.”

I grabbed a turkey leg from the vendor, mostly to get Matt to shut up about it. The thing was massive, bigger than my forearm and dripping with some kind of glaze that smelled like a combination of brown sugar and something I couldn’t identify.

“This is way too big,” I muttered before taking a bite.

Holy shit. It was actually incredible. The meat fell off the bone, seasoned perfectly with spices that made my taste buds wake up and pay attention. I took another bite, bigger this time, and tried not to look too impressed.

“See?” Matt grinned, gesturing with his own half-eaten leg. “I told you. Best turkey leg I’ve ever had, and I’ve been to Renaissance fairs.”

“It’s not terrible,” I admitted, which was as close to a compliment as he was getting.

“Look around, man,” Matt said, sweeping his free arm toward the crowd. “This whole thing is incredible. Way better than last year’s.”

He wasn’t wrong. Last year’s lighting ceremony had been a comedy of errors. Half the lights didn’t work, the sound system kept cutting out, and someone’s dog got loose and knocked over the refreshment table. The whole thing felt thrown together at the last minute by a committee that couldn’t agree on anything.

This year was different. Everything flowed smoothly, like Joy had thought through every possible scenario and planned for it. The crowd was bigger, the energy was better, and people actually seemed to be having fun instead of just showing up to say they were here.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Joy’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd. It was amplified by the sound system I helped her set up near the gazebo. “Thank you all for coming out tonight!”

I looked up to see her standing on a small platform, microphone in hand, looking absolutely radiant under the string lights. Her hair was down, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and when she smiled at the crowd, something shifted in my chest. She had the city thing going on, but she also looked a lot like the girl next door—literally.

There was an innocence about her. And dammit if it didn’t make me want to kiss her.

“Welcome to Calton Hill’s annual Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony,” she continued, her voice carrying clearly across the square. “This beautiful tradition officially kicks off our Yuletide Festival, and we couldn’t be more excited to celebrate with all of you.”