Page 18 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

6

COOPER

Ijust stood there. Frozen.

The kids were being rounded up and directed to go back inside. At least, that appeared to be the goal, but it didn’t seem to be working. Matt slapped me on the shoulder and walked back to the truck.

If you had asked me yesterday what I would do if I ever saw her again, I probably would have said something casual like I didn’t care. I would have shrugged it off like she didn’t mean anything. But that was a lie. Always had been.

Truth was, I had been in love with her once. Maybe I still was, if the way my chest had just hollowed out at the sight of her meant anything. She was gorgeous.

She still looked exactly like the girl who kissed me goodbye in the parking lot after graduation, but now there was something more polished about her. More sophisticated. Her brown hair was shorter now, falling just past her shoulders in soft waves. She had on dark jeans that fit her perfectly and a burgundy sweater that brought out the warmth in her brown eyes. Even flustered and embarrassed, she carried herself differently than she had in high school. More confident, despite the circumstances.

But those eyes? They were exactly the same. Big, beautiful brown eyes that reminded me of chocolate. And when they met mine, I felt the same jolt I had felt when I was seventeen and stupid enough to think I had a chance with my sister’s best friend.

She was beautiful then. She was even more beautiful now.

Which only made her presence here more confusing. Joy Murphy was supposed to be living her dream life in some big city, not standing in the snow outside Calton Hill Elementary looking like she wanted to disappear into the nearest snowbank.

“You good, man?” Tony asked.

“Yeah. Good. Let’s get back to the station. I’m hungry.”

I climbed into the jump seat. Matt started the engine and honked twice to a few of the kids who were still outside.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the tornado that just blew back into my life.

Back then, I had tried to play it cool. She was strictly off-limits by decree of my sister. She had told me to leave Joy the hell alone or she’d cut my balls off while I was sleeping. I told myself I didn’t want or need Joy. I had had a whole town of girls I could chase. But none of them had that spark. None of them had her laugh. None of them had eyes that made me forget what I was saying.

And none of them kissed me the way she had.

One kiss. That was all it took to get hooked. She’d smelled like vanilla and tasted like peppermint. I had thought about that one kiss for months after. Every damn time I dated someone else and had a first kiss, I compared it to the kiss with Joy.

None of them ever measured up.

And then she’d left. Ran off to college and the city and never looked back. My sister had missed her friend. I missed her too, though for less innocent reasons.

If she had stayed? Hell, maybe everything would have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t have wound up with Lynn. Maybe I wouldn’t know what it felt like to watch my future blow away like confetti in the wind.

It was crazy how one relatively insignificant moment could change a person’s entire life. But no sense crying over what might’ve been. That would drive me crazier than I already was.

“Who was the girl?” Tony asked from up front.

Tony didn’t grow up in Calton Hill. He came from Salt Lake. Everyone else around here, including Matt, knew Joy. Or at least knew of her. The small-town girl that moved to the big city and was supposedly rich now.

At least, according to the rumors.

I happened to know it wasn’t exactly true. She definitely moved to New York, but from what I understood, she wasn’t rich. I assumed she was home for the holidays. First time in a long time.

Matt backed the engine into the garage and we all climbed out. A cold breeze shot through the open bay door. I quickly pushed the button to close it. We took off our turnout gear and left it at the ready next to the truck.

The firehouse always smelled faintly of coffee and onions. Someone was always cooking with onions. I didn’t like onions, but I could admit they smelled good. It was comfortable. Familiar.

Matt hummed “Jingle Bell Rock” while I resisted the urge to shove him into a locker. I made a beeline down the hall and straight for the radio room.

The door was propped open. My sister was kicked back in her chair, headset resting crookedly on her messy ponytail, radio panel blinking lazily in front of her. She wore a Calton Hill Fire Department T-shirt, black cargo pants, and the fuzziest pink slippers you’ve ever seen. Ridiculous. But she didn’t have to leave the station. She dispatched. She didn’t fight fires. And she insisted she was calmer when she was comfortable, hence the need for the slippers.

I leaned on the doorframe. “You.”