Page 63 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

23

JOY

The fire crackled merrily in Aunt Victoria’s stone fireplace. It was perfectly cozy. I couldn’t believe I had denied myself this kind of comfort for so long. I should have visited more often when I lived in the city.

Sitting on the floor, I took a drink from my wine glass before putting it down. I carefully cut out a tiny felt Santa face. My shoulders unclenched for the first time in days.

“Pass me that gold glitter,” Aunt Victoria said from her spot on the couch, squinting at the stocking she was decorating. “This candy cane needs some sparkle.”

I reached across the coffee table, which had been transformed into a craft supply explosion. Bottles of glue, containers of glitter in every color imaginable, and pre-cut felt shapes covered every available surface. We’d been at this for two hours. We had maybe twenty stockings completed out of the fifty we’d planned to make for the kids at the festival.

“At this rate, we’ll be doing this until Valentine’s Day,” I said, holding up my Santa face to check if the proportions looked right.

“Good thing I bought extra wine,” Aunt Victoria replied before taking a generous sip from her own glass. “Besides, it’s not about speed. It’s about love.”

On the TV, Bing Crosby was crooning about white Christmas while Rosemary Clooney looked gorgeous in 1950s Technicolor. The tree in the corner twinkled merrily, casting dancing shadows across our craft chaos.

I should have been completely content. This was exactly the kind of cozy family moment I’d been missing in my sterile New York apartment. But my mind kept wandering to broad shoulders and blue eyes and the way Cooper’s hands had felt on my skin.

“You’re thinking about him again,” Aunt Victoria said without looking up from her gluing.

“I’m thinking about these stockings,” I lied, reaching for another piece of felt.

“Mmm-hmm. That’s why you’ve been cutting the same snowflake for the past five minutes and it looks like abstract art.”

I looked down at the mangled white felt in my hands. She was right. What was supposed to be a simple six-pointed snowflake now resembled something a toddler might create during a tantrum.

“I’m just distracted,” I said, setting down the scissors and reaching for my wine.

“By a certain firefighter who spent the night keeping you warm during the storm?”

Heat crept up my neck. “We were stuck in a building together. Nothing happened.”

Aunt Victoria gave me a look that suggested she wasn’t buying my innocent act for a second. “Honey, I’ve seen the way you look at that boy since you got back to town. And I saw the way you looked this morning when you finally made it home. That wasn’t the expression of someone who spent a platonic night sharing space.”

I groaned. Lying was futile. And I didn’t want to lie to her. Cooper wasn’t my dirty little secret. We were consenting adults.

“How are things going with Cooper?”

I kept my eyes focused on the felt Christmas tree I was cutting now, hoping my voice would come out normal. “Fine. Good. He’s been a huge help making sure we’re not creating any hazards.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

I glanced up to find her watching me with knowing eyes. Aunt Victoria had always been able to see through my careful deflections, even when I was a teenager trying to hide some minor catastrophe.

“It’s complicated,” I said finally.

“Most worthwhile things are.” She attached a glittery snowflake to another stocking, not looking at me directly.

“We were storing festival decorations when the weather turned bad. Couldn’t make it home safely.”

I had repeated the line so often it was just automatic now.

She set down her glue bottle and gave me her full attention. “Joy, honey, talk to me. What’s really going on?”

I stared into my wine, watching the liquid catch the firelight. How did I explain the night I’d spent in Cooper’s arms?

“Things got… steamy,” I said finally, my cheeks heating with more than just wine and firelight. “More than they should have.”