Chapter 14
COOPER
I’d been standing at the edge of the crowd for the better part of an hour, telling myself I was just keeping an eye on things. Making sure the electrical setup stayed stable. Watching for any signs of trouble with the tree or the lighting system. You know, community safety stuff.
Complete bullshit, of course. I was watching Joy.
She’d been a blur of motion since the moment she arrived, clipboard in one hand, walkie-talkie in the other, somehow managing to be in twelve places at once.
Every time I thought about walking over to say hello, she’d disappear into another crisis.
I thought about suggesting she delegate some of the organizing duties, but I didn’t think she would appreciate my advice.
Someone was complaining the food truck was blocking her store’s view of the tree.
I didn’t say it, but Joy very kindly told her the food truck placement was temporary.
It wasn’t going to be parked there forever.
The whole square had been transformed into something magical, which was saying something because I was still allergic to all this Christmas cheer.
Strings of lights crisscrossed between the lampposts, casting everything in a warm golden glow.
The coffee cart that had been there yesterday was back, along with a hot chocolate stand, a booth selling roasted nuts that smelled like heaven, and Matt’s beloved turkey leg vendor, who was indeed making people look like festive Vikings.
Kids were everywhere, running between the adults with the kind of boundless energy that made me feel ancient at twenty-seven.
They were chasing each other around the trees, making snow angels in the real snow that bordered the fake snow around our Christmas tree, and shrieking with laughter every time someone started an impromptu snowball fight.
“Slow down!” I caught myself starting to say as a group of them raced past me, then clamped my mouth shut. They were just being kids. Happy, carefree kids who didn’t know yet that life could sucker punch you when you least expected it.
And I did not want to be the old guy shouting at people to get off his lawn.
I remembered being that age. Back when Christmas was pure magic and the worst thing that could happen was not finding the present you wanted under the tree.
Before I learned that sometimes the people you love most can walk away without warning.
Before I discovered that hope could turn to devastation in the span of a single conversation.
I can’t do this, Cooper. I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I can’t.
Lynn’s words still echoed in my head sometimes, especially during the holidays. The way she looked at me like I was a stranger, like the past three years had meant nothing to her. Like the ring I’d saved six months to buy was just a pretty piece of jewelry she didn’t want.
Maybe I was just a busted ornament on life’s Christmas tree. Something that looked fine from a distance but fell apart the moment someone tried to hang their hopes on it. She wanted more than I could give her.
It would have been nice if she could have figured that out before we did the whole wedding thing. I was convinced she had been going for maximum humiliation. It worked.
“Try a turkey leg,” Matt insisted.
I grimaced when I saw grease on his chin. “Dude. Get a napkin.”
He pushed me. “Stop being a dick. Just try one.”
I grabbed a turkey leg from the vendor, mostly to get Matt to shut up about it. The thing was massive, bigger than my forearm and dripping with some kind of glaze that smelled like a combination of brown sugar and something I couldn’t identify.
“This is way too big,” I muttered before taking a bite.
Holy shit. It was actually incredible. The meat fell off the bone, seasoned perfectly with spices that made my taste buds wake up and pay attention. I took another bite, bigger this time, and tried not to look too impressed.
“See?” Matt grinned, gesturing with his own half-eaten leg. “I told you. Best turkey leg I’ve ever had, and I’ve been to Renaissance fairs.”
“It’s not terrible,” I admitted, which was as close to a compliment as he was getting.
“Look around, man,” Matt said, sweeping his free arm toward the crowd. “This whole thing is incredible. Way better than last year’s.”
He wasn’t wrong. Last year’s lighting ceremony had been a comedy of errors.
Half the lights didn’t work, the sound system kept cutting out, and someone’s dog got loose and knocked over the refreshment table.
The whole thing felt thrown together at the last minute by a committee that couldn’t agree on anything.
This year was different. Everything flowed smoothly, like Joy had thought through every possible scenario and planned for it. The crowd was bigger, the energy was better, and people actually seemed to be having fun instead of just showing up to say they were here.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Joy’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd. It was amplified by the sound system I helped her set up near the gazebo. “Thank you all for coming out tonight!”
I looked up to see her standing on a small platform, microphone in hand, looking absolutely radiant under the string lights.
Her hair was down, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, and when she smiled at the crowd, something shifted in my chest. She had the city thing going on, but she also looked a lot like the girl next door—literally.
There was an innocence about her. And dammit if it didn’t make me want to kiss her.
“Welcome to Calton Hill’s annual Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony,” she continued, her voice carrying clearly across the square. “This beautiful tradition officially kicks off our Yuletide Festival, and we couldn’t be more excited to celebrate with all of you.”
The crowd murmured appreciatively. I found myself moving closer without really deciding to. There was something magnetic about watching Joy in her element like this. She looked confident, poised, like she’d been doing this for years instead of days.
“Before we light our magnificent tree,” she said, gesturing toward the towering pine that dominated the square, “I want to thank everyone who made this possible. Our wonderful volunteers, our local businesses who provided food and drinks, and especially our fire department, whose quick thinking and generous spirit ensured that this year’s tree would have its crowning glory. ”
A few people in the crowd turned to look at me.
My face heated up. I tried to blend into the background, but Joy’s eyes found mine across the sea of faces.
She smiled at me. It wasn’t the public, event-coordinator smile she’d been wearing all evening, but something softer, more personal. It was just for me.
“Now, without further ado,” she said. “Let’s light this beauty up! Hit it, my little elves!”
I couldn’t help but grin at that. Only Joy would refer to the lighting technicians as “little elves” and somehow make it sound perfectly natural.
The crowd began counting down from ten, their voices mixing with the excited squeals of children and the gentle murmur of conversation. There were probably a hundred phones in the air with everyone hoping to get the video of the year.
I found myself holding my breath as the count reached three, two, one…
Then they hit the switch, and the whole world exploded in light.
I’d seen this tree go up. I helped position it, watched them string every single strand of lights around its branches. But nothing had prepared me for this moment when it all came together.
The tree blazed against the night sky, so bright I probably could have read a book by its glow.
The ISS could probably see it. But these weren’t just ordinary Christmas lights.
They were LED lights that had been programmed to create patterns, shifting and changing in a choreographed dance that left the entire crowd speechless.
First came dancing gingerbread men, their little LED bodies moving across the branches in perfect synchronization.
Then the lights shifted to form twirling wreaths that spun slowly around the tree’s circumference.
The words “Merry Christmas” fluttered across the branches like a banner caught in the wind, followed by a spiral pattern that started at the base and wound its way up to the star—my star—at the very top.
It was mesmerizing. Magical in a way I hadn’t believed in for almost a year. For just a moment, watching those lights dance and shift, I felt like a kid again, filled with wonder at something so beautiful. The tree existed purely to bring joy to the people watching it.
The crowd erupted in applause and cheers. Children jumped up and down. More people were pulling out their phones to capture the moment. But I barely noticed any of it. My attention was completely captured by the woman standing in front of the tree.
Joy had stepped down from the platform and was now standing near the base of the tree, her face tilted up toward the lights.
The expression on her face was pure radiance.
She looked like she was witnessing a miracle, like every dream she’d ever had about this moment was coming true right in front of her eyes.
The lights reflected in her dark hair, casting her features in an ever-changing palette of red, green, gold, and silver. When she turned slightly and caught sight of the star at the top—the star I’d placed there for her—her smile was so bright it could have powered half the display.
That’s when it hit me. I wasn’t just attracted to Joy Murphy. I wasn’t just impressed by her competence or charmed by her enthusiasm. I was falling for her. Hard. Fast. In a way that scared the hell out of me. How in the hell could I fall for a woman five minutes after she came back to town?
Because I didn’t just meet her. I knew her. She was the one that got away all those years ago and now she was back.
Falling for someone meant trusting them. It meant opening up, being vulnerable, putting your heart in someone else’s hands and hoping they wouldn’t drop it. It meant believing that this time might be different, that this person might actually stick around when things got complicated.
I’d tried that once before, and it had destroyed me. I was not about to go down that road again.
But as I watched her, I found myself wondering if maybe—just maybe—it might be worth the risk. She might be worth the risk.
The lights shifted again, forming what looked like falling snow, and Joy clapped her hands together like a delighted child. Victoria appeared at her elbow with a cup of hot chocolate, and Joy took it gratefully, wrapping her hands around the cup for warmth.
She was beautiful. She was kind. She was passionate about her work and dedicated to making other people happy. She’d brought a dead town square to life with nothing but determination, Christmas lights, and an unreasonably large tree.
And she somehow made me care about Christmas again, even when I’d been convinced that part of me was permanently broken.
The crowd began to spread out, people moving toward the food vendors and drink stations, families posing for photos in front of the tree.
But I stayed where I was, just watching Joy accept congratulations from what seemed like half the town.
Everyone wanted to shake her hand and tell her how beautiful everything looked.
She deserved every bit of praise she was getting. This wasn’t just a successful event—it was magic. The kind of magic that reminded me why Christmas mattered and why sometimes it was worth believing in good things.
Maybe I wasn’t a busted ornament after all.