Page 10 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

Kids squealed, teachers gasped, and the shrill alarm echoed off the cinderblock walls of the elementary school multipurpose room. The smell of something burning filled the air. It was an acrid, sour smell that I had a feeling was going to linger for a long time.

My aunt, bless her unflappable soul, unplugged the hot plate. “It’s fine,” she said over the alarm. “Nobody died.”

“Yet,” I said. “Give me five more minutes and I’ll burn the building down.”

The teachers were already shepherding the kids toward the exit, their voices rising above the alarm.

“Come on, let’s go outside! You guys know what to do. Out to the parking lot!”

“Everybody line up, mittens on!”

“Leave the markers!”

Unlike me, the kids weren’t panicked. Not in the least. They were thrilled. They moved toward the doors like they were part of a parade. They were laughing and making jokes about the lady that was burning down their school.

Me. I’m the lady that’s going to burn down the school.

I grabbed a rag and dabbed at the spill that had started it all—half a scoop of powdered cocoa, tipped onto the burner when I leaned too far while stirring. Apparently, cocoa mix turns into an angry little smoke bomb when given direct heat. The water hit the cord and shit just went all to hell.

I was humiliated. “This is another job AI will take and I will happily give it. I’m a hazard to myself.”

“Joy.” My aunt’s hand settled on my shoulder. “Stop fussing. Just let it air out. There’s no harm done. We can get a new hotplate.”

“I can’t believe I did this,” I whispered, watching the last kid dart out the double doors. “This was supposed to be cocoa and cookies. Fun and cozy. Instead, it’s smoke and chaos. I shouldn’t be anywhere near an event with children. Or anything flammable.”

“Oh, nonsense,” she said, tugging the rag from my hand. “They’re having the time of their lives. Look.”

I followed her outside. The cold air slapped my cheeks. The playground stretched white and untouched beyond the shoveled walkways. The kids were already in it, rolling snow into lopsided boulders instead of lining up in the parking lot. Everyone knew there wasn’t a real fire. Some kids collapsed to the ground and started to make snow angels. Others were pelting each other with snowballs while the adults tried to maintain a semblance of order. Their laughter drowned out the alarm still blaring inside the building.

“They’re supposed to be drinking cocoa,” I muttered.

“They’re supposed to be happy,” Aunt Victoria corrected. “And they are. Happier than if they were sitting at tables coloring posters. Look at them. Today’s event is supposed to be fun. There are no rules.”

I crossed my arms against the cold, fighting the urge to shrink into myself. “I’m not cut out for this. First event and I already look like a complete disaster. I think you need to pass the torch to someone else.”

“First event and no one got hurt, the children are laughing, and you discovered that cocoa powder smokes a lot. I call that a success.”

I groaned. “Only you could spin a fire hazard as a life lesson.”

“Exactly,” she said. “That’s what coordinators do.”

Before I could respond, the distant wail of sirens split the air.

Oh no.

Every kid froze mid-snowball and turned toward the street, eyes wide. And then they cheered. Full-throated, gleeful cheers, like a celebrity was about to walk the red carpet.

The fire truck rounded the corner, lights blazing against the snow, siren yowling. It felt a little dramatic for my little cocoa catastrophe.

“I’m going to melt into this snowbank,” I muttered.

There wasn’t actually a fire. But because it was a school and the freaking fire alarm was going off, the fire department had to respond.

“Don’t you dare,” Aunt Victoria said, patting my back. “Stand up straight. They’re just doing their job.”

“They’re doing their job because I spilled Swiss Miss on a burner. And then water on an electrical cord while using a hot plate manufactured in the fifties.”

She ignored me and watched the scene unfold. My face felt fire-engine red.