Page 43 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

The crowd murmured appreciatively. I found myself moving closer without really deciding to. There was something magnetic about watching Joy in her element like this. She looked confident, poised, like she’d been doing this for years instead of days.

“Before we light our magnificent tree,” she said, gesturing toward the towering pine that dominated the square, “I want to thank everyone who made this possible. Our wonderful volunteers, our local businesses who provided food and drinks, and especially our fire department, whose quick thinking and generous spirit ensured that this year’s tree would have its crowning glory.”

A few people in the crowd turned to look at me. My face heated up. I tried to blend into the background, but Joy’s eyes found mine across the sea of faces. She smiled at me. It wasn’t the public, event-coordinator smile she’d been wearing all evening, but something softer, more personal. It was just for me.

“Now, without further ado,” she said. “Let’s light this beauty up! Hit it, my little elves!”

I couldn’t help but grin at that. Only Joy would refer to the lighting technicians as “little elves” and somehow make it sound perfectly natural.

The crowd began counting down from ten, their voices mixing with the excited squeals of children and the gentle murmur of conversation. There were probably a hundred phones in the air with everyone hoping to get the video of the year.

I found myself holding my breath as the count reached three, two, one…

Then they hit the switch, and the whole world exploded in light.

I’d seen this tree go up. I helped position it, watched them string every single strand of lights around its branches. But nothing had prepared me for this moment when it all came together.

The tree blazed against the night sky, so bright I probably could have read a book by its glow. The ISS could probably see it. But these weren’t just ordinary Christmas lights. They were LED lights that had been programmed to create patterns, shifting and changing in a choreographed dance that left the entire crowd speechless.

First came dancing gingerbread men, their little LED bodies moving across the branches in perfect synchronization. Then the lights shifted to form twirling wreaths that spun slowly around the tree’s circumference. The words “Merry Christmas” fluttered across the branches like a banner caught in the wind, followed by a spiral pattern that started at the base and wound its way up to the star—my star—at the very top.

It was mesmerizing. Magical in a way I hadn’t believed in for almost a year. For just a moment, watching those lights dance and shift, I felt like a kid again, filled with wonder at something so beautiful. The tree existed purely to bring joy to the people watching it.

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers. Children jumped up and down. More people were pulling out their phones to capture the moment. But I barely noticed any of it. My attention was completely captured by the woman standing in front of the tree.

Joy had stepped down from the platform and was now standing near the base of the tree, her face tilted up toward the lights. The expression on her face was pure radiance. She looked like she was witnessing a miracle, like every dream she’d ever had about this moment was coming true right in front of her eyes.

The lights reflected in her dark hair, casting her features in an ever-changing palette of red, green, gold, and silver. When she turned slightly and caught sight of the star at the top—the star I’d placed there for her—her smile was so bright it could have powered half the display.

That’s when it hit me. I wasn’t just attracted to Joy Murphy. I wasn’t just impressed by her competence or charmed by her enthusiasm. I was falling for her. Hard. Fast. In a way that scared the hell out of me. How in the hell could I fall for a woman five minutes after she came back to town?

Because I didn’t just meet her. I knew her. She was the one that got away all those years ago and now she was back.

Falling for someone meant trusting them. It meant opening up, being vulnerable, putting your heart in someone else’s hands and hoping they wouldn’t drop it. It meant believing that this time might be different, that this person might actually stick around when things got complicated.

I’d tried that once before, and it had destroyed me. I was not about to go down that road again.

But as I watched her, I found myself wondering if maybe—just maybe—it might be worth the risk. She might be worth the risk.

The lights shifted again, forming what looked like falling snow, and Joy clapped her hands together like a delighted child. Victoria appeared at her elbow with a cup of hot chocolate, and Joy took it gratefully, wrapping her hands around the cup for warmth.

She was beautiful. She was kind. She was passionate about her work and dedicated to making other people happy. She’d brought a dead town square to life with nothing but determination, Christmas lights, and an unreasonably large tree.

And she somehow made me care about Christmas again, even when I’d been convinced that part of me was permanently broken.

The crowd began to spread out, people moving toward the food vendors and drink stations, families posing for photos in front of the tree. But I stayed where I was, just watching Joy accept congratulations from what seemed like half the town. Everyone wanted to shake her hand and tell her how beautiful everything looked.

She deserved every bit of praise she was getting. This wasn’t just a successful event—it was magic. The kind of magic that reminded me why Christmas mattered and why sometimes it was worth believing in good things.

Maybe I wasn’t a busted ornament after all.