Page 2 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

I groaned. “Do we have to start with the sad tale? Can’t we just focus on manual labor?”

“Manual labor doesn’t fill the silence, sweetheart. And I haven’t seen you in ages. Spill.”

We returned to the car, and I yanked a duffel bag from the back seat, but it was wedged in so tight the damn thing didn’t want to move.

“Fine,” I said. “The company went under.”

“Advertising, right?”

“Yeah.” The bag finally gave way, and I stumbled back, just barely avoiding falling on my ass. “Turns out nobody wants to pay humans to be clever anymore. AI can spit out a hundred ad campaigns in five seconds. Who needs Joy when you’ve got Joy 2.0, now with seventy percent less attitude?”

Aunt Victoria clicked her tongue. “Machines don’t have charm. Or wit.”

“Neither did I, apparently. They cut half the staff. Then the rest. By the time they locked the doors, it was either live under the overpass or come crawling back here like a massive loser.”

“You’re not a loser,” she said firmly, taking another box.

I followed her inside. “I’m twenty-seven, unemployed, broke, and single. That’s basically the definition of loser. If you looked it up in the dictionary, you’d see my driver’s license photo.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” she said, though her eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” I muttered. “In New York, it was fine. Ladies my age were all about climbing the corporate ladder. They dated and networked. But now I don’t have a ladder to climb or a man to⁠—”

I cut myself off, remembering I was talking to my aunt that lived in Utah. I didn’t think she would appreciate my colorful vocabulary and me describing my sexual needs. Aunt Victoria wasn’t a prude, but she was still my aunt. The woman that raised me.

We set another load of boxes down. She put her hands on her hips in that stance that said I was about to get some wisdom. “Time isn’t something you feel, Joy. It’s something you use. And you’ve been given a little stretch of it right now. Doesn’t mean it’s the end. You know you’re always welcome here. It’s really not so bad.”

“Feels like the end. End of my career, end of… everything.”

We finished bringing in the last of my things. Now the foyer was a mess.

I dropped onto the couch, leaning my head back and staring at the popcorn ceiling. The house was built sometime in the seventies. Aunt Victoria had probably painted the inside no less than twenty times, but the popcorn ceiling stayed.

“I thought by twenty-seven I would at least have direction. A job I didn’t hate. Maybe someone to share rent with who wasn’t a psychotic roommate. Instead I’m here. Starting from zero. Or maybe negative five.”

Aunt Victoria sat in her recliner, facing me with that maddening calmness she always had. “You know, when I was your age, I was working three jobs and dating a man who thought ‘romance’ meant letting me pick the toppings on the pizza. Life straightens out, eventually.”

“Yeah, but you straightened it out. You have this house. Friends. A purpose.”

“And you have possibilities. What can be better than that?”

I grabbed one of the throw pillows and pressed it to my face, groaning my frustration. “You make it sound like a motivational poster.”

“Actually, it’s funny you mentioned having a purpose.”

“Oh no.” I dropped the pillow and gave her a suspicious look. I loved my aunt but she was always trying to cajole me into something. And that was the look. The one that said she had something up her sleeve. “What’s funny about it?”

“Well,” she said, drawing out the word in a way that made me nervous, “I was going to tell you anyway, but now seems like a good time. You know the Yuletide Festival?”

I blinked. “The Christmas thing? With the parade and the craft booths and carolers in old Dickens outfits?”

“That’s the one. I’ve been organizing it for years.”

“Yeah, I remember. You basically run the town for all of December.”

“Not this year,” she said with a faint smile. “I was hoping to step back a little. Too many meetings, too many details. I’d like to enjoy the holiday without running around like a maniac. I’m too old for that business and it’s about time I passed the torch to someone else.”

“Uh-huh. And this affects me how?”