Page 5 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

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COOPER

The kid screamed like we were monsters instead of firemen.

“Hold still, dude.” I leaned over him with a bottle of adhesive solvent in one gloved hand and a cotton swab in the other. “We need to get that off your face.”

The little genius had gotten the wall of a gingerbread house stuck square to his cheekbone. God help me, this is why I worry about having kids.

Instead of using the traditional white icing, the boy had decided his dad’s super glue was the perfect way to keep his gingerbread house together. He’d leaned in too close and ended up with a hard cookie shell on one side of his face.

We had managed to break off pieces of the wall but there was still a good size chunk attached to his cheek. His dad happened to build hobby cars. The good ones. Not the little cheapy Wal-Mart kind. So of course, the fucking super glue was along the lines of what NASA would use to keep rockets in one piece.

Behind me, “Jingle Bell Rock” blared from the living room speakers. Apparently this family thought Thanksgiving leftovers meant Christmas was already in full swing. A naked tree was set up in the corner waiting to be decorated. Lights framed the windows. Stockings were already hung over the fireplace. It looked like Santa’s workshop had exploded in here, and it was only December first.

I hate December.

“Man, this is incredible,” Matt said from somewhere behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder and watched him take a bite of a cookie the mother offered. It looked more appetizing than the gingerbread, but it was still unprofessional.

He’s eating fucking cookies while I’m dealing with the one eight-year-old who hates firemen? Not cool.

The kid howled again as I dabbed at the glue. His mom hovered anxiously, wringing her hands, while Dad filmed on his phone like this was going to be a great story for TikTok.

The kid wailed and tried to jerk his head away. “Ow! Can’t you just pull it off?”

“Not safely,” I said, refraining from telling him it would take half his cheek with it. The kid was already terrified enough. “If I can just dissolve the glue, it’ll slide off no problem. Now please stay as still as you can. The less you wiggle, the quicker we can get you fixed up.”

“Don’t yell at him,” his mom said sharply.

I didn’t even look up. Little kids, I could be patient with, but I had way less leeway for their parents. If they had been watching him in the first place, he never would have been in this situation. “I’m not yelling, ma’am. This is my soothing tone.”

Matt sipped on his eggnog. “Yeah, he’s basically Mister Rogers.”

The kid sniffled, lower lip trembling. “It burns.”

“Brayden says it burns,” his mother said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Glue like this isn’t meant for human skin. It’s really best to keep it out of children’s reach. Get that on video, sir.”

The man flinched behind his phone.

“Cooper,” Matt warned, though he was grinning ear to ear. “Ease up. Accidents happen.”

I gritted my teeth and kept working. The solvent finally started to eat through the glue, loosening the death grip of gingerbread against skin. Slowly, carefully, I pried one corner free.

“There we go,” I murmured, focusing. “Almost…”

With a soft pop, the rest of the cookie wall came loose. I pulled it back like I was removing a bandage. The poor kid still looked scared. Silver lining, I doubted he would mess around with super glue again.

The kid let out one final dramatic wail and slapped his hands to his bare cheek. He eased up a bit upon realizing his face was still intact.

“See?” I said, tossing the gingerbread into a trash bag. “Not even a scratch. You’re all good.”

The kid’s mom clapped her hands together in relief, which made some of the hassle worth it. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much. We didn’t know what to do. We panicked.”

“I would suggest putting the glue away. You’ll want to put something like Vaseline on that area. Don’t use any scented lotions for a day or two.”