Page 119 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

When he put it like that, the answer seemed obvious. Joy was the type to think things through carefully before making decisions. The fact that she’d asked for space instead of just cutting me off entirely suggested that she was trying to figure things out, not write me off completely.

“People don’t know there is history,” I said.

“History?”

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling like an idiot for even bringing it up. “Joy and I had a thing. Kind of. Maybe. I don’t know what to call it.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “A thing? When?”

“High school. Senior year. We were friends, part of the same group with Lynn and Katrina. But Joy and I…” I trailed off, trying to find the words to explain something I’d never really talked about with anyone. “There was always something there. This tension, this awareness. We’d catch each other looking, or our hands would brush when we were passing papers in class, and it would feel electric.”

“And?”

“And nothing. The night before graduation, there was this party. Everyone was drunk and emotional about leaving for college, and Joy and I ended up sitting by the water talking.”

Matt’s grin was growing wider by the second, like he could already see where this story was heading.

“We talked for hours about everything—our fears about the future, what we wanted our lives to look like, whether we’d stay in touch after everyone scattered. And then.” I paused, remembering that night with perfect clarity even after all these years. “She kissed me. Just leaned over and kissed me like she’d been thinking about it for months.”

“Holy shit,” Matt said with obvious delight. “She was your first love.”

“No. Yes. Maybe.”

“Go on.”

“It wasn’t just a peck on the cheek,” I continued, my cheeks heating with the memory. “It was intense. When we broke apart, she looked at me with those eyes, and she said, ‘I couldn’t leave without doing that at least once.’”

“And then what happened?”

“And then she left the next day for college. We texted a few times that summer, but she was busy with orientation and new friends, and I was starting my EMT training. By fall, we’d lost touch completely. She built this whole life in New York, and I stayed here and eventually ended up with Lynn.”

Matt was quiet for a moment. “So you’re telling me that the woman you’re falling for now is the same woman you had unfinished business with eight years ago? The one who kissed you and then disappeared to the city?”

“I guess.”

“Dude.” Matt shook his head with amazement. “No wonder you’re so twisted up about this. It’s not just about Lynn causing drama—it’s about getting a second chance with the one that got away.”

“She didn’t get away,” I protested. “She left. She chose her career and her life in New York over whatever we might have had.”

“Stop being indecisive,” Matt continued. “Make a choice, or life will choose for you. Go after her. Prove to Joy that you can be the guy who deserves her. If you want her.”

“Yeah,” I said without hesitation. “I want her.”

The admission was filled with more certainty than I expected. Somewhere over the past couple of weeks, wanting Joy had stopped being a question and started being a fundamental truth about who I was.

“I’m not sure when it happened or how it happened so fast,” I continued, “but I can’t imagine my life without her.”

Matt grinned, the first genuinely happy expression I’d seen from him all morning. “It wasn’t fast, man. From what you’ve told me, you two had a thing for each other back in high school. This is just picking up where things left off.”

He was right. What I felt for Joy wasn’t new or sudden. It was the continuation of something that had started when we were teenagers. It was something that had been interrupted by time and distance and our own fears but had never really gone away.

“So what do I do?” I asked. “She wants space, and I’m trying to respect that, but every hour that passes feels like I’m losing her a little more.”

“You prove, in public and without doubt, that you choose her,” Matt said immediately. “Not Lynn, not some imaginary perfect woman, but Joy Murphy. Make it so clear that even the biggest gossips in town can’t misinterpret what you’re saying. She can’t be left questioning what you’re thinking.”

I thought about that for a moment, an idea beginning to form. “The last night of the Yuletide Festival. Joy will be there wrapping things up. With the festival ending, she won’t be as stressed or pulled in a hundred different directions.”

“Perfect timing,” Matt agreed. “Public venue, captive audience, and hopefully a woman who’s had enough time to think things through and realize what she wants.”