Page 113 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

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COOPER

The Christmas market was running like a well-oiled machine. I couldn’t have been more proud of Joy. From my position near the first-aid station, I had a clear view of most of the market grounds, which meant I also had a perfect vantage point to watch Joy dart around like a hummingbird on a mission.

She was handling everything with effortless competence, making it look easy even though I knew firsthand how much work and stress had gone into making this evening possible. A vendor had a question about electrical hookups? Joy appeared with the answer and a solution. A family couldn’t find the restrooms? Joy pointed them in the right direction with a smile that made them feel like helping them was the highlight of her evening.

There was so much happening all around but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was the only one I wanted to see. I barely noticed the kid trip and fall just ten feet in front of me.

The crying snapped me into action.

I jogged over to where the little boy had gone down, his wails cutting through the cheerful Christmas music. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven, with dark hair sticking out from under a knit cap and tears streaming down his red cheeks.

“Hey there, buddy,” I said, crouching down to his level. “You took a little spill there. What’s your name?”

“Dylan,” he hiccupped, holding up his hands to show me scraped palms dusted with dirt and small pebbles.

“Nice to meet you, Dylan. I’m Cooper, and I’m a firefighter. Want to come with me to get those hands cleaned up? I’ve got some really cool bandages in my first-aid kit.”

His crying subsided to sniffles as curiosity took over. “What kind of bandages?”

“The superhero kind,” I said, offering him my hand. “Batman, Spider-Man, maybe even some dinosaurs if you’re lucky. Those are my favorite, but I’m old-fashioned like that.”

Dylan’s eyes widened with interest. He let me help him to his feet. His left knee was scraped too, I noticed, with a small trickle of blood seeping through his torn jeans. Nothing major.

“Are you here with your mom and dad?” I asked as we walked toward the first-aid station.

“My mom. She’s buying stuff at the cookie booth.” He sniffled again, but the tears had stopped. “She told me not to run, but I saw the reindeer and I wanted to pet them.”

“Ah, the reindeer are pretty exciting,” I agreed. “But they’re also a little skittish around lots of people. Sometimes it’s better to look with our eyes instead of our hands, you know?”

I guided him to sit on the folding chair inside the first-aid tent and pulled out my supplies. The scrapes weren’t serious, just surface wounds that needed cleaning and protection.

“This might sting a little bit,” I warned as I opened an antiseptic wipe. “But it’ll help make sure your cuts don’t get infected. You know what infected means?”

Dylan shook his head, watching me with wide eyes.

“It means when germs get into a cut and make it hurt worse and take longer to heal. We don’t want that, right? So we clean it out really good first.” I gently cleaned the dirt from his palms, talking him through each step to keep him distracted. “There we go. You’re being really brave, Dylan.”

“My mom says I’m tough,” he said with a hint of pride.

“Your mom sounds smart. She’s absolutely right—you are tough.” I reached for the box of bandages, making a show of examining the options. “Now, let’s see what we’ve got here. We have Batman…”

“Batman!” Dylan interrupted eagerly.

“Batman it is.” I carefully applied the bandage to his worst scrape, smoothing the edges down. “There. Batman’s going to help protect your hand while it heals.”

Suddenly, a terrified woman was running toward me. I noticed Joy watching the scene with a frown. It didn’t take more than two seconds to figure out it was the missing mother.

“Dylan!” the woman called out as she reached the first-aid tent, her face flushed with panic and exertion. “Oh my God, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Mom!” Dylan jumped up from the chair, immediately running to her with his bandaged hands held up proudly. “Look! I got Batman!”

The woman, who looked to be in her early thirties with the same dark hair as her son, pulled him into a fierce hug before turning to me with gratitude and embarrassment warring on her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I told him to stay close, but he saw the reindeer and just took off. I’ve been looking everywhere for him.”

“No harm done,” I assured her, standing up and closing the first-aid kit. “He took a little tumble and scraped his hands, but nothing serious. Just needed some cleaning and superhero protection.”