Page 33 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

She frowned, tilted her head to study it and then nodded. “This one’s definitely going on the tree.”

I was beginning to understand that there was a very specific aesthetic Joy was going for, and it involved scrutinizing every single decoration like she was curating a museum exhibit. Meanwhile, the volunteers were standing around holding armfuls of lights, waiting for instructions.

“Okay, everyone!” she called out, climbing into the scissor lift with an armful of light strings. “We’re going to start from the bottom and work our way up. Nice even spacing, and make sure the lights are facing outward so they’ll show up properly.”

The first few rounds went smoothly. Joy rode the lift up and down, methodically wrapping lights around the lower branches while calling out instructions to the ground crew about garland placement. She had this little wrinkle between her eyebrows when she concentrated, and she kept tucking a strand of hair behind her ear only to have it immediately fall back into her face.

It was kind of adorable actually. Not that I was paying that much attention.

Things got interesting when we reached the middle section of the tree. Joy was about fifteen feet up, stretching to reach a particularly stubborn branch, when I heard her yelp.

“Um, Houston, we have a problem,” she called down.

I looked up to see her tangled in what appeared to be three different strands of lights. One was wrapped around her ankle, another had somehow gotten caught on her Santa hat, and the third was hanging over her shoulder.

“Don’t move!” I called up. “You’ll make it worse.”

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” she shot back, but I could hear the laugh in her voice. “Unless you count falling to my death as going somewhere.”

I grabbed the ladder from Bob’s truck and climbed up to the scissor lift platform. Joy was standing there looking like she’d gotten in a fight with a Christmas tree and lost spectacularly. I shook my head and sighed.

“How did you even manage this?” I asked. She’d somehow created what could only be described as a Christmas light pretzel.

“Talent,” she said dryly. “Pure, natural talent.”

I had to get closer to untangle her, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes and count the freckles across her nose. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and the embarrassment, and when she looked up at me, I forgot what I was supposed to be doing for a solid ten seconds.

“The lights?” she prompted gently.

“Right. Lights. Yes.” I started carefully pulling the lights away from her feet, trying very hard not to think about how my hands kept brushing against her legs, or how she smelled good enough to eat.

“Thank you,” she said softly when I finally freed the last strand from her hat. “My hero.”

She said it teasingly, but there was something in her eyes that made my chest feel tight. For a moment, we just stood there on the tiny platform, looking at each other while Christmas carols blasted from the sound system below.

Then Bob’s voice cut through the moment. “You two alright, or can we get back to decorating this tree?”

Joy’s cheeks went from pink to red. “We’re good!”

I cleared my throat loudly. “Yeah, good to go.”

We managed to finish the lights without any more tangling incidents, though I noticed Joy was being extra careful about her movements. The garlands went up next, draped in perfect swoops around the entire tree. Then came the ornaments, each one carefully placed according to Joy’s increasingly detailed specifications. She had one placed and then leaned back to make sure it was perfect.

By the time we reached the fake-snow stage, the sun was starting to set, and most of the volunteers were looking distinctly tired. But Joy was still going strong, fluffing and arranging the cottony stuff around the base of the tree with the dedication of someone creating a masterpiece.

She was really taking her job seriously.

“There’s already real snow on the ground,” I pointed out as she added yet another layer of fake snow.

“But it’s not white enough,” she said seriously. “And it might melt. This way we’re guaranteed perfect snow.”

I looked at the inch of actual snow covering everything else in the square, then at the blindingly white pile of cotton batting she’d assembled. “Right. Perfect snow. Got it.”

More people drifted away. Soon it was just me, Joy, and a handful of die-hard volunteers putting the finishing touches on what had to be the most thoroughly decorated tree in the history of Christmas.

“Okay,” Joy announced, standing back to survey their work. “Time for the star.”

She pulled out a box that had been sitting to the side, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. Inside was a star that was absolutely gorgeous—silver and crystal with tiny lights woven through it. It had to be at least two feet across.