Page 56 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

“What?” Joy appeared beside me, following my gaze. “Oh.”

The wind howled past the building, driving snow in horizontal sheets that made it impossible to see more than a few feet. The streetlights were barely visible through the storm, casting weak halos in the swirling white.

“We’re stuck,” I said.

Joy was quiet for a moment, processing this development. Then she surprised me by laughing—not hysterical laughter but genuine amusement.

“Well,” she said, “I guess it could be worse. At least we’re somewhere warm and dry.”

She was right about that. We could do a lot worse than being stranded here.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, remembering the vending machines I’d seen near the break room. “Since you bought lunch, dinner’s on me.”

“You’re going to wine and dine me with vending machine cuisine?” Joy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “How romantic.”

The word hit me like a physical blow. Romantic. Here we were, alone in an empty building during a snowstorm, the lights dimmed, and the world shut out beyond the windows. The universe was clearly testing my willpower.

Joy was already walking toward the break room. I found myself following like I was attached to her by some invisible string.

The vending machines hummed quietly in the corner, their bright displays the only real light in the room. I fed dollar bills into the slot and watched as Joy deliberated over her choices with mock seriousness.

“Hmm. The gourmet selection is impressive,” she mused. “Cheese crackers or pretzels for the main course? And what wine pairs best with a Snickers bar?”

“I’d recommend the Coke,” I said dryly, hitting the button for a bag of chips. “Vintage Tuesday afternoon.”

She laughed again. “You know, for someone who’s so antisocial, you’re pretty good company.”

The comment caught me off guard. Was that how I’d been coming across? Antisocial? I supposed it wasn’t entirely wrong. I had been keeping to myself more since Lynn left. Keeping everyone at arm’s length seemed safer than risking that kind of hurt again.

But with Joy, the walls I’d built felt less necessary. She had a way of drawing me out without making it feel dangerous.

We gathered our feast of processed snacks and settled at one of the small tables in the break room. Outside, the storm continued to rage but inside felt kind of cozy. The good vibes probably had a lot to do with the pleasant company. There was no one else in the world I would rather be trapped with than Joy.

“So,” she said, opening her bag of pretzels. “What’s the protocol for riding out a blizzard in city hall? Do we take shifts monitoring the emergency radio? Check the basement for zombies?”

“I think we’re good on the zombie front,” I said. “Though I should probably check that the backup generator has fuel, just in case.”

She nodded seriously. “Very responsible. What would I do without your attention to detail?”

There was affection in her voice. Joy had a way of making my caution sound like a virtue instead of the neurotic overthinking Lynn had always complained about.

I was about to respond when the lights flickered. Once. Twice.

Then everything went dark.

The sudden absence of the electrical hum left us in complete silence, broken only by the wind outside and our own breathing. The temperature in the building would start dropping quickly without the heating system running.

“Well,” Joy’s voice came through the darkness, remarkably calm, “I guess we know the generators aren’t working.”

I fumbled for my phone’s flashlight, casting a pale circle of light between us. “They must have failed. Or the storm knocked out the connection.”

“How long until it gets really cold in here?”

“Couple hours, maybe less.” I was already mentally cataloging our options. “We’ll need to find warmer clothes and stick together to conserve body heat.”

Joy’s eyebrows rose at that last part. “Stick together?”

“Body heat is the most efficient way to stay warm when you don’t have external heating,” I said, trying to keep my voice clinical and professional. “Basic survival.”