Page 62 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

It reminded me of being seventeen again and the way my heart had hammered when she’d given me that one devastatingly brief kiss before she walked away.

Some things never changed, apparently.

“Cooper?” Katrina’s voice cut through my memories. “Burgers are done, dude.”

I looked down at the griddle, surprised to find that I somehow managed to cook them properly despite my mental wandering. “Right. I know.”

The rest of the crew had started gathering in the kitchen, drawn by the smell of food and the promise of a break from equipment maintenance. I plated the burgers and carried them to the long table where everyone was assembling, grateful for the distraction of other voices and safer topics of conversation.

“Smells good, Coop,” Tony said as he loaded his burger with all available condiments.

The familiar rhythm of firehouse conversation flowed around me. It was the usual good-natured ribbing and complaints about department politics. Someone brought up the festival and the higher-than-normal excitement around it.

“My wife is already planning an entire day,” one of the guys said.

“Mine too,” another chimed in. “It’s going to be hell chasing three kids under the age of six around. Would people judge me if I got leashes?”

“Lucky bastard, Frost,” the first one said. “No wife, no kids, no obligations. You can just show up, do your job, and go home.”

Several of the guys laughed and agreed. I forced myself to smile along with them. But the comment hit harder than it should have. No obligations. No one waiting at home, no one to buy presents for, no one who cared whether I made it through my shift in one piece.

I was a bachelor with no wife on the horizon.

I told myself that was what I wanted. I tried to convince myself I wanted simplicity, independence and freedom from the messy complications of relationships. But sitting there listening to them complain about their kids and wives, I felt the hollowness of my life like a physical ache.

They started talking about what they were going to get their wives for Christmas.

“My Sarah wants one of those fancy stand mixers,” one said. “The kind that costs more than my truck payment.”

Jewelry and spa days were also contenders. A new phone. A better laptop.

The conversation continued around me, everyone sharing their gift-giving dilemmas and Christmas plans. I found myself thinking about Joy, wondering what she might like. She seemed like the type who would appreciate something thoughtful rather than expensive. Maybe a book. She mentioned loving to read. Or something for her festival planning, though that felt too impersonal.

Maybe something small and personal. Something that would make her think of me after she left town.

The thought stopped me cold. Why was I thinking about buying Joy a Christmas present? We weren’t dating. We’d shared one night during a snowstorm, and then we both walked away like it didn’t mean anything. I had no business shopping for her, no right to insert myself into her holiday plans.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it anyway. Couldn’t stop imagining her face lighting up when she opened something I’d chosen specifically for her. Couldn’t stop wondering what would make her happy.

“Cooper? You still with us?”

I blinked, realizing the conversation had moved on and everyone was looking at me expectantly. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, are you planning to ask anyone to the New Year’s Eve party?” Tony repeated. “Or are you going to spend another year standing in the corner nursing one beer all night?”

“Haven’t thought about it,” I lied.

“Well, think fast,” he said. “All the good ones get taken early, and you’re not getting any younger.”

More laughter around the table, but I barely heard it. I was too busy imagining Joy at that party, wondering who she might be with, whether she’d save me a dance or spend the night avoiding me because things were too complicated between us.

I glanced over at Katrina. I was certain she was watching me. Could she hear my thoughts?

If she did, she would know I was imagining her laugh and thinking about her smile. I was thinking about the way she felt in my arms, warm and soft and perfect. I was practically doodling her name in hearts like some lovesick teenager.

I was in serious trouble.

Somewhere between that first day at the elementary school and last night in the storm, Joy Murphy had gotten under my skin. Again. Not just attraction—though God knew there was plenty of that—but something deeper. Something that felt suspiciously like the beginnings of love.

The same feeling that had knocked me sideways in high school, when a kiss from her had rewritten everything I thought I knew about myself. Except this time, I wasn’t seventeen and she wasn’t the untouchable girl who ran away. This time, we were adults with complicated lives and incompatible goals and about a dozen reasons why we should stay away from each other.

This time, I had no excuse for the way my heart hammered every time I thought about her.

“You know what your problem is, Cooper?” Katrina said, appearing at my elbow as the meal wound down and guys started clearing their plates.

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You think too much.” She studied my face with that unsettling twin intuition that had always made it impossible to hide anything from her.

I wanted to ask her what she meant, but she was already walking away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the growing certainty that I was about to make a very big mistake.

Despite every logical reason to stay away from Joy, I was pretty sure I was going to chase her anyway.