Chapter 20
COOPER
The snow had been falling steadily when we left the diner. By four o’clock it was coming down much harder. Fat, wet flakes that stuck to everything and turned the world into a white-out blur. The weather said it would snow, but this was much more than anyone anticipated.
I found Joy hunched over a craft booth near the gazebo, completely absorbed in hanging what looked like a thousand tiny silver bells from the booth’s canopy.
Her back was to me, and she was humming something under her breath, probably another Christmas song, although they didn’t annoy me as much when they came from her.
She was the only other person left in the entire square.
“Joy,” I called out as I approached, snow crunching under my boots. “What the hell are you still doing out here?”
She glanced over her shoulder, her cheeks pink from the cold. “Oh, hey! I’m just finishing up the decorations for the booth. She’s selling her handmade ornaments tomorrow, and I wanted to make sure everything looked perfect.”
I looked around the deserted square, then back at her like she’d lost her mind. “Have you looked around lately? Everyone else packed up and went home an hour ago. It’s not safe out here.”
“What do you mean?” She turned fully now, following my gaze across the empty space. For the first time, she seemed to notice that all the other volunteers had vanished, and the surrounding businesses had their lights off and their doors locked.
“The weather service issued a winter storm warning about an hour ago,” I said, pulling out my phone to show her the alert. “We’re supposed to get eight to ten inches before morning. The roads are already getting bad.”
Her eyes widened as she looked at the snow falling around us, heavy, wet flakes that were accumulating fast on every surface. “Oh. I guess I was kind of focused on getting these bells hung just right.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” I shook my head, amazed that she could be so oblivious to everything around her when she was in work mode. “Come on, pack it up. You need to get home before the roads become impassable.”
She looked back at her half-finished booth with obvious reluctance. “But I’m almost done. Just a few more bells and maybe some garland around the edges—”
“Joy.” I stepped closer. “The roads are already icing over. You’re driving that little Toyota, right? You’ll end up in a ditch.”
“I’m a good driver,” she protested.
“I’m sure you are. In normal weather. But this isn’t normal weather.” I grabbed the other end of the garland she was trying to wind around a support post. “This is the kind of storm that turns Main Street into a skating rink.”
She sighed, clearly frustrated at having to abandon her project halfway through. “Fine. You’re right. I just hate leaving things unfinished.”
“It’ll keep until tomorrow. The storm’s supposed to clear out by morning. On the bright side, we’ll have plenty of snow for the snowman contest.”
Joy wasn’t the type to leave a job half-finished, especially when it meant risking the decorations to the storm.
“I just need to put away these boxes,” she said, gesturing to the collection of containers scattered around the booth. “They can’t stay out in the snow all night—everything will be ruined. The mayor said we could store them in the basement of city hall.”
I looked at the municipal building squatting at the edge of the square, its windows dark and unwelcoming. Then I looked at the boxes, at least a dozen of them, filled with what appeared to be half the festival’s decoration supply.
“Joy.”
“It won’t take long,” she interrupted, already grabbing the nearest container. “The building is right there.”
She was right about that, at least. City hall sat maybe fifty yards away, its brick facade barely visible through the falling snow. And she was also right about the decorations. They’d be destroyed if left outside.
I wondered if I should head into the station to wait on standby. Inevitably, there would be people stranded on the road or slipping on ice. But the station was staffed. If they needed extra help, they would let me know and I would find a way to get there. For now, Joy needed me.
I grabbed two boxes and followed her toward the building, my boots slipping slightly on the accumulating snow. The wind was picking up, driving the flakes sideways and making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Joy pulled the key out and quickly unlocked the door.
The interior of city hall was blessedly warm after the bitter wind outside.
Emergency lighting cast everything in a dim amber glow, enough to see by, but it gave the normally bustling building an almost otherworldly quality.
Our footsteps echoed in the empty hallways as we made our way to the basement storage rooms.
“This should work,” Joy said, pushing open a door to reveal a spacious room lined with metal shelving. “Plenty of space.”
We made trip after trip between the square and the storage room. The wind was howling. It was a full-on blizzard situation. On our final trip, I realized just how bad the situation had become.
The snow had piled up at least two feet, maybe more. My truck was buried up to its wheel wells, and the roads were completely impassable. Even if I could dig out my vehicle, attempting to drive would be suicide.
“Shit,” I muttered, standing in the doorway of city hall and staring out at the white wasteland that had been the town square.
“What?” Joy appeared beside me, following my gaze. “Oh.”
The wind howled past the building, driving snow in horizontal sheets that made it impossible to see more than a few feet. The streetlights were barely visible through the storm, casting weak halos in the swirling white.
“We’re stuck,” I said.
Joy was quiet for a moment, processing this development. Then she surprised me by laughing—not hysterical laughter but genuine amusement.
“Well,” she said, “I guess it could be worse. At least we’re somewhere warm and dry.”
She was right about that. We could do a lot worse than being stranded here.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, remembering the vending machines I’d seen near the break room. “Since you bought lunch, dinner’s on me.”
“You’re going to wine and dine me with vending machine cuisine?” Joy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “How romantic.”
The word hit me like a physical blow. Romantic. Here we were, alone in an empty building during a snowstorm, the lights dimmed, and the world shut out beyond the windows. The universe was clearly testing my willpower.
Joy was already walking toward the break room. I found myself following like I was attached to her by some invisible string.
The vending machines hummed quietly in the corner, their bright displays the only real light in the room. I fed dollar bills into the slot and watched as Joy deliberated over her choices with mock seriousness.
“Hmm. The gourmet selection is impressive,” she mused. “Cheese crackers or pretzels for the main course? And what wine pairs best with a Snickers bar?”
“I’d recommend the Coke,” I said dryly, hitting the button for a bag of chips. “Vintage Tuesday afternoon.”
She laughed again. “You know, for someone who’s so antisocial, you’re pretty good company.”
The comment caught me off guard. Was that how I’d been coming across? Antisocial? I supposed it wasn’t entirely wrong. I had been keeping to myself more since Lynn left. Keeping everyone at arm’s length seemed safer than risking that kind of hurt again.
But with Joy, the walls I’d built felt less necessary. She had a way of drawing me out without making it feel dangerous.
We gathered our feast of processed snacks and settled at one of the small tables in the break room.
Outside, the storm continued to rage but inside felt kind of cozy.
The good vibes probably had a lot to do with the pleasant company.
There was no one else in the world I would rather be trapped with than Joy.
“So,” she said, opening her bag of pretzels. “What’s the protocol for riding out a blizzard in city hall? Do we take shifts monitoring the emergency radio? Check the basement for zombies?”
“I think we’re good on the zombie front,” I said. “Though I should probably check that the backup generator has fuel, just in case.”
She nodded seriously. “Very responsible. What would I do without your attention to detail?”
There was affection in her voice. Joy had a way of making my caution sound like a virtue instead of the neurotic overthinking Lynn had always complained about.
I was about to respond when the lights flickered. Once. Twice.
Then everything went dark.
The sudden absence of the electrical hum left us in complete silence, broken only by the wind outside and our own breathing. The temperature in the building would start dropping quickly without the heating system running.
“Well,” Joy’s voice came through the darkness, remarkably calm, “I guess we know the generators aren’t working.”
I fumbled for my phone’s flashlight, casting a pale circle of light between us. “They must have failed. Or the storm knocked out the connection.”
“How long until it gets really cold in here?”
“Couple hours, maybe less.” I was already mentally cataloging our options. “We’ll need to find warmer clothes and stick together to conserve body heat.”
Joy’s eyebrows rose at that last part. “Stick together?”
“Body heat is the most efficient way to stay warm when you don’t have external heating,” I said, trying to keep my voice clinical and professional. “Basic survival.”
“Right. Survival.”
“First, let’s get our coats. Then we’ll see what else we can find.”
She brightened up. “Do you think they’d get mad if we burn a few desks for warmth?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Aside from the infinite reasons that’s a bad idea, there’s no ventilation in here. The smoke would be a problem.”
“Always so smart,” she said, sighing. “I guess we’ll have to stay warm the old-fashioned way.”
We made our way back to the storage room where we’d left our outer gear. Our phone lights created dancing shadows on the walls. The building was already noticeably colder.
“Oh!” She stopped suddenly, shining her light into one of the boxes we had stored earlier. “There’s a Santa costume in here. The padding might help insulate.”
I looked where she was pointing. Sure enough, there was a full Santa suit, red velvet coat with white fur trim, matching pants, black belt, the works.
“Good thinking,” I said, pulling out the coat. I shrugged it on over my jacket. It was ridiculous—I looked like Santa’s younger, taller brother—but it was warm.
Joy had pulled on the matching pants over her leggings and boots, cinching the elastic waistband tight. Even in the dim light, I could see she was trying not to laugh.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. It’s just…” She gestured between us. “We look like the world’s most mismatched Christmas pageant.”
She was right. We were ridiculous. I was wearing a Santa coat over my winter jacket, and she was swimming in red velvet pants.
And then she started giggling. She was laughing so hard she had to lean against the wall for support. The sound was infectious, and before I knew it, I was chuckling too.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped between laughs. “It’s just—we’re snowed into city hall wearing a Santa suit, eating vending machine food by phone light. If you’d told me this morning this is how my day would end…”
“It’s not exactly how I planned to spend my evening either,” I admitted, but I was smiling now. When was the last time I actually smiled? Really smiled, not just the polite expression I wore for victims and colleagues?
“We should probably stay in the breakroom,” I said. “Smaller room. No windows. It will stay the warmest.”
“And we can smash a vending machine if we get hungry.”
“I don’t think we’re going to be here forever,” I said dryly. “No need to commit a crime.”
We returned to the break room. Our snacks were still on the table. We sat down in the dark with only my phone light on. We wanted to conserve battery power. We ate and drank our sodas and then sat there.
Suddenly, the room felt a hell of a lot smaller.
“I’ve never actually sat on Santa’s lap,” Joy murmured.
My brain short-circuited. “Joy—”
But she was already moving, settling herself across my lap with a playful grin. “So, Santa,” she said in a mock-innocent voice, “I’ve been very good this year.”
The moment started silly. Ridiculous, even. But something shifted as soon as she settled against me. The weight of her body in my lap and the way she looked at me changed everything.
“Have you really been good?” I asked, my voice coming out rougher than I’d intended.
Her smile faded, replaced by something I couldn’t quite read. “That depends,” she said softly. “What’s your definition of good?”
The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with possibility. I was acutely aware of every sensation. The way her hand rested on my chest and how her eyes kept dropping to my mouth made it pretty damn clear what she wanted from Santa this year.
I should have made a joke. Should have lightened the moment, stepped back from whatever precipice we were approaching. But I couldn’t seem to make myself move. Couldn’t make myself want to move.
“Joy.” Her name came out like a warning, though I wasn’t sure if it was meant for her or for me.
“Cooper.” She shifted slightly. The movement sent heat shooting through me. “I—”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she leaned forward until her forehead rested against mine. We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing the same air, balanced on the edge of something that would change everything.
All I had to do was stop thinking and start feeling.
All I had to do was let go.