Page 66 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

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COOPER

The ladder lay twisted in the snow like a broken skeleton, and Harold Case sat perched on his roof looking sheepish and slightly hypothermic, still clutching a light-up reindeer cutout in one mittened hand.

“How long have you been up there, Harold?” I called, setting up the extension ladder we’d brought from the truck.

“About an hour,” he called back, his voice carrying that particular note of embarrassment that came with having to call emergency services for a situation that was entirely your own fault. “The damn thing just folded up on me. One minute I was hanging Rudolph, the next minute I was watching my ladder take a dive into the rose bushes. I’ve been hollering for a while. Finally, someone driving by noticed me up here. I left my phone in the house to charge.”

I climbed carefully, testing each rung before putting my full weight on it. The roof was slick with frost, and Harold was smart enough to have stayed put rather than trying to shimmy down on his own and risk a serious fall.

“Let’s get you down from there,” I said, reaching the roof edge and extending my hand. “How are you feeling? Any pain, dizziness, numbness?”

“Just cold and stupid,” Harold admitted, allowing me to help him navigate from the roof to the ladder. “My wife is going to kill me. I told her I could handle putting up the decorations myself.”

A week ago, a call like this would have irritated the hell out of me. Another Christmas-related emergency that could have been avoided with a little common sense and proper safety equipment. Another reminder of how the holiday season seemed to bring out people’s capacity for poor decision-making. Like the cold froze the common sense out of them.

But as I helped Harold down the ladder and checked him over for injuries, I found I wasn’t annoyed at all. If anything, I was almost… amused? Harold was fine—cold but unharmed—and there was something endearing about his determination to make his house the most festive on the block.

When had I started seeing the charm in these ridiculous seasonal emergencies instead of just the stupidity?

The answer came to me as I watched Harold reunite with his worried wife, who had arrived a few minutes ago. I knew what the cause of the change was—Joy. Somehow, spending time with Joy had shifted my perspective on a lot of things. Her enthusiasm was infectious and her optimism like sunshine breaking through clouds I had become so accustomed to living with.

It wasn’t just about the physical attraction, though there was plenty of that. It was the way she laughed at my dry comments instead of rolling her eyes. The way she seemed to genuinely enjoy my company, even when I was being my usual cautious, overthinking self. The way she made everything feel lighter somehow, like life didn’t have to be all doom and gloom and worst-case scenarios.

There was a reason we’d all been friends back in high school. Joy had always been the one to suggest the crazy adventures. Spending time with her now reminded me of that version of myself, the one who took chances and believed in happy endings.

After making sure Harold was stable and giving his wife a lecture about ladder safety that I was pretty sure neither of them were listening to, I found myself sitting in the truck, staring at my phone.

Before I could lose my nerve, I typed out a text to Joy: Dinner? Casual place, nothing fancy.

Her response came back almost immediately: Yes! Where and when?

The speed of her reply made me smile. She wanted to see me too. Whatever had happened between us the other night, whatever awkwardness we’d navigated the morning after, she was willing to try again.

Tony’s on Main Street. 7 PM?

Perfect. See you there.

I stared at the phone for a long moment after she replied, trying to identify the feeling in my chest. It took me a while to recognize it: anticipation. Not anxiety or dread or the careful calculation of risks and benefits I usually applied to social situations. Just simple, uncomplicated excitement about seeing Joy again.

When was the last time I’d felt that way about anything?

Tony’s Italian Restaurant was exactly the kind of place you’d expect to find in a small town, red checkered tablecloths, Chianti bottle candleholders, and the lingering scent of garlic and oregano that had probably soaked into the walls over decades. The meatballs were the size of my fist and the pasta came in portions that could feed a family. Anthony himself still worked the kitchen despite being well into his seventies.

Joy was already there when I arrived, seated at a corner table and studying the menu. She looked up when I approached. Her smile hit me like a physical force.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello.”

She was wearing a black blouse and had put on some light makeup. She didn’t need it, but she looked so damn pretty in the candlelight.

I sat down and picked up my menu. “Do you know what you’re getting yet?”

“I was trying to decide between the lasagna and the chicken parmigiana,” she said. “This is a serious dilemma.”

“Go with the lasagna,” I suggested. “Anthony’s grandmother’s recipe. It’s legendary.”