Page 45 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

“I’m so glad you like it,” I said, meaning every word. “I was worried it might be too much, too different from what people were expecting.”

“Different in the best possible way,” she assured me. “You’ve brought new life to this whole tradition. People are going to be talking about this night for years.”

Just then, someone called her name from across the square, and she spun around with excitement. “Oh, that’s Mike from the historical society! I need to talk to him about the caroling schedule for next weekend. Don’t go anywhere. We need to celebrate properly!”

She disappeared into the crowd, leaving me standing there.

Aunt Victoria waved me over. “Come meet my friend.”

“In a minute,” I said. “I just need a moment to take it all in.”

“Take all the time you need, sweetie. You’ve earned it.”

I found myself alone for the first time all evening. It felt strange after hours of constant motion, constant problem-solving, and constant interaction with vendors. But it was a good kind of strange—peaceful, satisfied, like I could finally breathe deeply and appreciate what we’d accomplished.

The tree continued its light show, the patterns shifting and changing in mesmerizing sequences. Families were gathered around its base, children pressing as close as the safety barriers would allow, their faces lit up with wonder. This was what Christmas was supposed to feel like, magical, joyful, full of possibility.

Cooper was standing off to the side of the crowd, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, watching the celebration with that stoic expression I was becoming very familiar with. But there was something different about his posture tonight. Less rigid, maybe. Less like he was bracing himself against something painful.

My heart did that stupid fluttery thing it had been doing every time I saw him since yesterday. He looked good—really good. He’d cleaned up for tonight, traded his usual work clothes for dark jeans and a sweater that brought out the green in his eyes. He’d even shaved, revealing the strong jaw that gave me butterflies.

Looking at him now, I could see past the gruff exterior he’d been wearing like armor. This was still the same Cooper who used to carry my books without being asked. The guy who would sneak me little smiles when Katrina wasn’t looking. He’d once given me his jacket when I was cold at a football game and then pretended he wasn’t freezing for the rest of the night.

He was still that sweet, protective boy underneath all the hurt and cynicism. I could see it in the way he helped with the tree and in the careful way he had positioned that star. And now I could see the quiet pride on his face as he watched our finished display.

Before I could second-guess myself, I was walking toward him, threading my way through the crowd of happy families and excited children. My heart was pounding, but it was good pounding, anticipation rather than anxiety.

He saw me coming and straightened slightly, that careful guard slipping back into place. But his eyes softened when they met mine. I caught the hint of a smile before he could hide it.

“Cooper,” I said when I reached him, and without thinking, I grabbed both of his hands in mine. “Thank you. I mean it. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

He looked down at our joined hands, then back up at my face. I could see him struggling with the compliment. “It was nothing,” he said, that familiar gruff tone back in his voice. “Just doing my job.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” I insisted, squeezing his hands. “You saved Christmas, Cooper. You saved my Christmas. You saved my ass. This could have been seriously humiliating.”

He opened his mouth to argue, probably to deflect again, and something inside me just snapped. All the gratitude, all the emotion from the evening, all the feelings I’d been trying so hard to ignore, it all bubbled up at once, and before I could stop myself, I was rising up on my tiptoes and pressing my lips to his.

It was supposed to be quick, just a grateful peck on the lips. A thank-you kiss between friends. But the moment our mouths touched, everything changed.

Electric. That was the only way to describe it. Like touching a live wire, but in the best possible way. Cooper’s hands tightened on mine, and for just one perfect, breathless second, he kissed me back. His lips were warm and soft and tasted like peppermint mocha. I felt like every light on that Christmas tree was suddenly blazing inside my chest.

Then reality crashed back in.

I pulled away so fast I nearly lost my balance, staring up at Cooper’s stunned face with growing horror. What had I just done? I’d kissed him. In public. At a community event where half the town could see us. Including his sister, who made it clear years ago that this was absolutely not okay.

“I’m sorry,” I said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just—the tree was so beautiful, and you were so sweet about helping, and I got carried away, and⁠—”

“Joy,” he started, but I was already backing away from him, my face burning with embarrassment.

“I should go,” I said, hating how my voice cracked. “I need to check on the vendors, make sure everything’s running smoothly. Thank you again for everything.”

And then I did what I had done fifteen years ago after our kiss at graduation. I ran.

I pushed through the crowd, mumbling apologies to people I bumped into, trying to get as far away from Cooper’s shocked face as possible. My lips were still tingling, my heart was racing, and all I could think was that I had just ruined everything.

The friendship we had been rebuilding was destroyed by one impulsive, electric, absolutely perfect kiss.

I was such an idiot. And the worst part? Even as I was running away from him again, part of me was wishing I’d stayed to see what he would have said next. Or where that kiss would have taken us. I knew where I wanted it to go but that was bad. No sex with my friend’s hot brother.