Chapter 18
COOPER
The snow had started falling around ten that morning, adding to the few inches we’d already accumulated over the past week.
Not enough to shut anything down, but just enough to make everything look like a Christmas card and turn the town square into a winter wonderland.
Which was probably exactly what Joy had ordered up from the weather gods, knowing her.
If I was in control of the weather and she turned those big brown eyes on me and asked for a white Christmas, I would let it snow. In a heartbeat. No questions asked.
I had been out here since eight, overseeing the setup of vendor booths for tonight’s Santa’s Night Market.
Measuring distances between stalls, checking that the electrical cables were properly secured and routed away from foot traffic, making sure every connection was weatherproofed.
The last thing we needed was someone tripping over a loose wire or getting shocked because a vendor hadn’t sealed their power setup properly.
“Cooper, this one’s too close to the hot chocolate stand,” Tommy called out from where he was helping position one of the craft booths. “Fire hazard?”
“Yeah, move it back three feet,” I called back, making a note on my clipboard. “And make sure that heater they’re using has proper clearance on all sides.”
This was the kind of work I understood, concrete problems with concrete solutions. Measure twice, secure everything, follow the safety protocols. No ambiguity, no emotional landmines, no complicated feelings to navigate.
Unlike the woman I could see across the square, directing the crew that was setting up the small stage where the church choir would perform.
People listened to her. I supposed I wasn’t all that surprised.
She wasn’t a big person but there was just something about her presence that people paid attention to.
Today she was wearing combat boots, leggings, and a sweater that hung low enough to cover her ass.
It was very city chic, and I fucking loved it.
She looked like she could be going into battle or for coffee.
Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun and she’d only put on a little makeup.
And I so fucking wanted to kiss her.
Joy had been keeping her distance since our conversation at the diner three days ago, just like she’d promised.
Professional interactions only, brief and to the point.
She’d email me schedules and vendor lists to get my opinion.
I responded with safety concerns and logistics notes.
We had managed to coordinate the entire Night Market setup without having a single personal conversation.
It was exactly what I had asked for. What I needed for my own sanity and self-preservation.
So why did I find myself looking for her in every crowd? Why did I miss the way she used to bounce over to me with some new idea or problem to solve, her eyes bright with enthusiasm? Why did the careful distance between us feel like a physical ache in my chest?
I was an idiot. That’s why. I was a masochist. A glutton for punishment. I wanted to torture myself by standing next to her.
“Cooper!” Tommy’s voice cut through my brooding. “Can you come check this electrical setup? Something doesn’t look right.”
I made my way over to where he was examining a tangle of extension cords that looked like someone had let a toddler loose with a box of Christmas lights. “Shit, who set this up?”
“The guy with the kettle corn stand. Says he’s been doing it this way for years.”
“Well, he’s lucky he hasn’t electrocuted anyone.” I started untangling the mess, rerouting cords properly and making sure everything was grounded. “Get me some cable covers from the truck. We need to protect these runs.”
Tommy was a young kid that was serving as my sidekick for the day. He seemed eager to please.
As I worked, I found my attention drifting back to Joy and her stage crew. She was wearing that red knit hat again, the one with the pom-pom that kept falling into her eyes, and every few minutes she’d blow it away in a gesture that was annoyingly adorable.
The stage looked fine from where I was standing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there might be issues she hadn’t considered. Safety concerns that needed to be addressed before the choir performance tonight.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her competence. She’d proven herself more than capable with the tree lighting. But stages were different, especially temporary ones set up in winter weather. There were a lot of things that could go wrong.
And it was my responsibility to make sure everything was safe.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I finished securing the kettle corn vendor’s electric mess and walked over to where Joy was consulting with the head of the construction crew.
“Make sure the steps are wide enough for the choir robes,” she was saying. “Mrs. Wilson uses a walker, so we need—”
“You need stair access on both sides,” I interrupted, studying the stage setup with a critical eye. “Can’t have everyone bottlenecked on one set of steps if there’s an emergency.”
Joy turned to look at me. I caught a flash of irritation in her dark eyes. “Already covered. See those steps being installed on the far side?”
I looked where she was pointing and saw that she was right. The crew was indeed installing a second set of steps. “What about candles? I saw something about candles in the program notes.”
“LED candles only,” she said, her voice carefully patient in a way that suggested she was trying not to roll her eyes at me. “No open flames on a wooden stage in December weather. No open flames period. See? I listened.”
I nodded. “And clearance around the perimeter? You need space for people to move if someone has a medical emergency, or if the weather turns bad and people need to evacuate quickly.”
This time she did turn to face me fully, crossing her arms over her chest. “Cooper, I appreciate your concern for safety, but we’ve got eighteen inches of clearance on all sides and a clear sightline to the first-aid station. That is what you told me we needed and that is what I did.”
Heat crept up my neck. She was right, of course. I could see now that all the safety issues I’d been worried about had already been addressed. She’d already taken my advice and addressed all my concerns.
“I’m all for keeping people safe,” she continued, her voice getting a little sharper. “But maybe you could focus on what I’m actually missing or doing wrong, instead of assuming I need to be told everything twice.”
The words stung because they were fair. I was being an ass, looking for problems that didn’t exist, trying to find reasons to criticize her work when the truth was I just wanted an excuse to talk to her.
It was definitely middle school. If she was wearing pigtails I would yank one.
“Fine,” I said, more curtly than I had intended. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control.”
I turned to walk away, annoyed with myself for making things awkward and letting my personal feelings interfere with what should have been a straightforward safety inspection.
Something slammed against the back of my jacket.
I spun around to find Joy standing about ten feet away, looking completely innocent except for the telltale traces of snow on her gloves. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she had just done
“Did you just—” I started.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, but there was definitely a gleam in her eyes that hadn’t been there during our tense conversation about stage safety.
I turned to continue walking away, and immediately got hit with another snowball, this one catching me right between the shoulder blades.
That was it. I bent down and scooped up a handful of snow, packing it quickly into a decent projectile. Joy’s eyes went wide as she realized what was coming, and she started backing away.
“Now, Cooper, just hold on a sec—”
My snowball caught her right in the chest, exploding in a puff of white powder across her dark green sweater. She stood there for a moment, mouth open in surprise, then broke into the first genuine smile I had seen from her all day.
“Oh, it’s on,” she said, bending down to gather ammunition.
What followed was the kind of snowball fight that probably looked ridiculous to any adults watching, two grown people pelting each other with snow like a couple of kids at recess.
But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this light.
This free from the weight of all the complicated feelings and careful distances we’d been maintaining.
Joy had a surprisingly good arm, landing hits with an accuracy I wasn’t counting on. But I had the advantage of size and reach. It wasn’t long before she was laughing too hard to aim properly.
“Okay, okay!” she called out, holding up her hands in surrender after I managed to get her with three consecutive hits. “Truce!”
“Truce,” I agreed, brushing snow off my jacket and trying not to notice how beautiful she looked with her cheeks flushed from cold and laughter, her hat askew, snowflakes caught in her dark hair.
I noticed we had attracted an audience. Somewhere during our impromptu battle, a group of kids who had been playing nearby had joined in, along with a few of the vendors and volunteers.
The entire square was now engaged in a full-scale snowball war, with people diving behind booths for cover and children shrieking with delight as they pelted unsuspecting adults.
“Look what you started,” Joy said, gesturing at the chaos around us.
“Me? You’re the one who threw the first snowball. I was only acting in self-defense.”
“Details,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. But she was still smiling, and for the first time since our conversation at the diner, the tension between us felt manageable. Normal, even.
We stood there watching the battle rage around us, both of us breathing hard from the exertion and the laughter. I found myself studying her profile.
“Can I buy you lunch?” she asked suddenly, turning to meet my eyes. “At the diner? I promise not to throw any more snow at you.”
The question caught me off guard. We’d just established some kind of ceasefire in our personal cold war, but lunch felt dangerously close to the kind of personal interaction I told myself I needed to avoid.
On the other hand, I was hungry. And it was just lunch. Two colleagues discussing work over sandwiches and coffee. Perfectly professional.
“Yeah,” I heard myself saying. “Yeah, okay. Let me just check in with the guys, make sure they don’t need anything else.”
“I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes?”
I nodded and watched her walk away across the snow-covered square, dodging the occasional stray snowball and laughing when one of the kids managed to nail her in the leg.
This was probably a mistake. I was setting myself up for more of the emotional confusion that had been plaguing me since she had come back to town.
But as I made my way over to check on the booth setup one more time, I realized I was looking forward to lunch more than I had looked forward to anything in a long time.