Page 80 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

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JOY

The sound of hammers and power tools filled the morning air as volunteers worked to assemble the final major structure for the Christmas market—Santa’s workshop. It wasn’t elaborate, just a simple house-like structure with white walls, red trim, and a cheerful chimney that would emit artificial smoke on festival nights. But even in its half-finished state, it had a magical quality that made me smile every time I looked at it.

It was a last-minute addition. I, of course, had to clear it with the safety officer, AKA Cooper.

It took a minute, but he agreed as long as he could supervise. As if it would ever be any other way.

“Hand me that level, would you?” asked one of the local contractors who’d volunteered his expertise for the project. He was perched on a ladder, adjusting the angle of the workshop’s roof line.

I grabbed the level from the nearby toolbox and passed it up to him, marveling at how quickly the structure was taking shape. When I had first drawn up the plans for Santa’s workshop, it had seemed impossibly ambitious. I did that sometimes. I got an idea and tended to get a little carried away. My eyes were bigger than my abilities.

But I didn’t have to have the ability. The crew did. I had the vision, and they had the skills. Watching it come together through the combined efforts of a dozen volunteers, it felt like watching a dream materialize.

Cooper appeared at my elbow, clipboard in hand and safety vest bright orange against the gray morning sky. He’d been making regular rounds all morning, checking on the construction progress and making sure everyone was following proper safety protocols.

“How’s it looking?” I asked, nodding toward his clipboard.

“Good. Really good, actually.” He sounded almost surprised, as if he’d expected more things to go wrong. Honestly, I had expected it as well. “Everyone is wearing their hard hats, the power tools are being used correctly, and nobody’s tried to climb anything they shouldn’t climb yet.”

“The day is still young,” I said with a grin.

“Don’t jinx it,” Cooper replied, but he was smiling too.

The workshop was designed with function as well as form in mind. Children would line up to sit on Santa’s lap outside the structure, tell him what they wanted for Christmas, and then walk through the workshop to pick out a small toy from the donated inventory. It was meant to capture some of that old-fashioned Christmas magic while also giving every child who visited the festival something tangible to take home.

“Speaking of Santa,” I said, spotting a familiar figure approaching through the construction zone, “let me introduce you to our star performer.”

Pat Samson was born to play the perfect Santa Claus. He was a big, portly gentleman with twinkling blue eyes and a genuine white beard that flowed halfway down his chest. The beard, he’d proudly told me when I’d first met him, was something he grew all year specifically for his holiday appearances around town. Apparently, he made enough money in December to last him for months. Pat Samson was in high demand.

“Pat!” I called, waving him over.

He made his way carefully through the construction area, his considerable belly—also grown specially for the role, he claimed with a wink—preceding him like the prow of a ship.

He extended his hand to Cooper. “Call me Santa.”

Cooper shook his hand with obvious amusement. “Good to meet you, Santa. Although I think I met you a few years ago on a call.”

“Oh, probably.” He chuckled. “I get around during the holidays.”

“Any particular concerns I should be aware of?” Cooper asked, and I could see him mentally cataloging potential scenarios.

“Oh, the usual. Occasional tears if someone gets overwhelmed, children who get so excited they forget to watch where they’re going.” Pat’s eyes twinkled with obvious fondness for his young audience. “Nothing too dramatic, but it’s always good to be prepared.”

Cooper nodded. Even watching him work was attractive. I was a goner. The guy could make me wet without even trying. Little things stirred up memories of our nights together. I wanted more but he wasn’t offering, and I was too afraid to come right out and ask the man to haul me off to bed. Definitely not in front of Santa.

“The workshop is coming together beautifully,” Pat continued, surveying the construction with approval. “The children are going to love walking through to pick their gifts. Makes the whole experience feel more authentic.”

That had been the goal, to create something that felt magical and special while still being practical and safe. Looking at the workshop now, with its cheerful red door and painted candy cane decorations, I thought we might actually have pulled it off.

“One thing,” Cooper said, and I could tell from his tone that he was shifting into safety mode. “The foot traffic flow is going to be crucial. We’ll need to keep both doors clear—the entrance and the exit—and make sure people don’t pile up inside the workshop itself.”

He gestured toward the structure, where the entrance and exit doors were clearly visible on opposite sides. “If too many people try to crowd inside at once, it could become dangerous, especially with excited children in the mix.”

I nodded, immediately understanding his concern. The workshop wasn’t huge, and while it was designed to accommodate a steady flow of visitors, it wasn’t meant to hold large groups at one time.

“I’ll make sure the volunteers understand,” I said, already mentally running through which people I’d need to brief on crowd control. “We can station someone at each door to manage the flow, maybe put up some rope barriers to create a clear path.”