Page 86 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

Her smile was knowing and fond. “Take as many as you want, sweetheart. I have more than enough for the senior center.”

An hour later, I stood on Cooper’s front porch with a plate of still-warm cookies, suddenly nervous in a way that seemed ridiculous. We’d been intimate, we’d spent the night together, we’d worked side by side for weeks. Why was I nervous about bringing him cookies?

Maybe because this felt different. More domestic, more deliberately romantic. This wasn’t about festival planning or getting snowed in or solving practical problems. This was just me wanting to spend time with him. I just wanted to hang out. Period.

Cooper answered the door looking deliciously rumpled in jeans and a gray sweater, his hair still showing signs of sleep despite the fact that it was well past noon.

“Joy,” he said, surprise and pleasure evident in his voice. “This is unexpected.”

“I brought cookies,” I said, holding up the plate like an offering. “And I have a demand to make.”

His eyebrows rose with amusement. “A demand? Should I be worried?”

“Probably. I’m insisting that you watch a Christmas movie with me. Right now. No arguments.”

Cooper looked at me with amusement. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll eat all these cookies myself and tell everyone at the fire station that you’re a Christmas Grinch who refuses to watch holiday movies with beautiful women.”

“Beautiful women, huh?” His mouth quirked up in what was almost a smile. “Well, when you put it like that, I suppose I don’t have much choice.”

He stepped aside to let me in.

“What movie did you have in mind?” he asked, following me toward the living room.

“White Christmas,” I said without hesitation. “The Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye version. It’s a classic.”

“I should have known you’d pick something with singing and dancing,” Cooper said, but there was affection in his tone. “I suppose I can endure that for homemade cookies.”

“Such a sacrifice,” I said with mock sympathy, settling onto his couch and patting the cushion beside me. “Come on, time to discover the joy of classic Christmas cinema.”

Cooper disappeared into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of milk and a slightly bemused expression. “I can’t remember the last time I watched a Christmas movie,” he admitted as he settled beside me.

“Then you’re long overdue.”

As the opening credits rolled, I found myself less interested in the movie than in Cooper’s reactions to it. He started out clearly humoring me, wearing the patient expression of someone enduring something for the sake of good manners. But gradually, I watched him get drawn into the story despite himself.

“The dancing is actually pretty impressive,” he admitted.

“Danny Kaye was incredibly talented,” I agreed, pleased that he was engaging with the film. “Most people don’t realize how athletic those old Hollywood dance routines were.”

By the time we reached “White Christmas” itself, the final number where Bing Crosby surprises the general with a full theater of grateful soldiers, Cooper had gone completely quiet beside me. I glanced over to find him watching with unexpected intensity.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

“It’s just…” He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. “The idea of doing something that meaningful for someone who’s given so much. That kind of gratitude and respect.”

The emotion in his voice caught me off guard. This was Cooper at his most vulnerable, moved by a story about loyalty and sacrifice and the importance of honoring those who serve others. It was exactly the kind of thing that would resonate with someone who dedicated his life to helping people.

Without thinking, I shifted closer to him on the couch, tucking myself against his side. His arm came around me automatically, pulling me closer. I felt him press a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For making me watch this. For the cookies. For…” He trailed off, but I thought I understood what he meant. For caring enough to share something that mattered to me. For wanting to spend a lazy afternoon with him. For all the small gestures that added up to something larger.

“Thank you for letting me,” I replied, settling more comfortably against his chest.

As the credits rolled, neither of us made any move to get up. We stayed curled together on Cooper’s couch. For the first time in longer than I could remember, everything in my life felt exactly right. No anxiety about the future, no regret about the past, no urgency to be anywhere other than exactly where I was.

Just Cooper’s arms around me.

“Joy?” Cooper’s voice was soft, almost drowsy.

“Mmm?”

“This is nice.”

I smiled against his chest, thinking about how such a simple statement could contain so much truth. “Yeah,” I agreed. “It really is.”