Chapter 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.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly, but her expression remained carefully neutral. “Define steamy.”
“Aunt Victoria! I am not giving you dirty details!”
“What? I’m old, not dead.” She grinned at my obvious mortification. “Besides, I’ve been wondering when something would happen between you two. The tension has been obvious to everyone but you.”
I buried my face in my hands. “This is so not a conversation I should be having with my aunt.”
“Who else are you going to talk to? You need perspective from someone who loves you but isn’t invested in the outcome.” She leaned forward, her voice gentling. “So tell me. What exactly happened that has you looking like you’ve been hit by a truck?”
I took a large gulp of wine for courage. “Whatever you’re suspecting… happened. We crossed a line.”
“And this is a problem because…?”
“Because it’s Cooper!” The words came out more forcefully than I’d intended. “Because he’s still picking up the pieces from his breakup with Lynn. Because I might not even be staying in town. Because—”
“Because you’re scared,” she interrupted gently.
The simple truth of it stopped me cold. “Yeah. I’m scared.”
She nodded as if it made perfect sense. “Good. If you weren’t scared, it wouldn’t mean anything.”
I stared at her. “How is being terrified a good thing?”
“Because fear means you care.” She picked up another stocking, smoothing it flat against her lap. “You wouldn’t be this worked up about a casual fling, Joy. You’re scared because this feels like something that could be real.”
She was right. What I felt for Cooper wasn’t casual attraction or simple chemistry. It was the kind of bone-deep, soul-stirring connection that either became everything or destroyed you in the attempt.
“He’s not over Lynn,” I said, voicing the fear that had been eating at me since I watched him drive away that morning. “I mean, he’s not still in love with her or anything. But there’s a hole in his life where she used to be. Especially during the holidays. I can see it in his eyes.”
She was quiet for a long time, considering this. “And you’re worried about being a rebound.”
“I don’t want to be the woman who helps him get over someone else,” I admitted.
“I don’t want to be a distraction or a fling or a way for him to avoid dealing with his feelings.
If I’m going to pursue this—and God, I want to pursue this—I want there to be a real chance at something deeper.
He told me I’m the first woman he’s been with since Lynn. That technically makes me the rebound.”
“Honey, you can’t control how someone else heals. You can’t force someone to be ready for love on your timeline. All you can do is be authentic about what you want and see if they’re willing to meet you there.”
“But what if—”
“What if he breaks your heart?” Aunt Victoria shook her head. “What if he doesn’t? What if you spend so much time protecting yourself from potential hurt that you miss out on something beautiful?”
“I’ve been down this road before,” I said quietly. “Not with Cooper specifically, but with men who weren’t really available. Who wanted something casual while I was already falling hard. It never ends well.”
“This isn’t the same thing. Cooper isn’t some emotionally unavailable playboy.
He’s a good man who’s been hurt, and he’s trying to figure out how to trust again.
That’s completely different from someone who just wants to have fun with no strings attached.
And you two have history. You know each other. This isn’t some random thing.”
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to trust that what I felt between Cooper and me was real and went beyond physical attraction.
“I’m probably overthinking this,” I said, picking up my scissors again and reaching for another piece of felt. “We shared one night. It might not even happen again.”
“It’ll happen again,” she said with certainty. “The question is whether you’ll let it develop naturally or whether you’ll sabotage it with all your worrying.”
I started cutting out a Santa shape, concentrating on keeping the edges smooth and even. “What if I’m not staying in town? What if I don’t get the job? I have to work. I don’t think there are many job opportunities here.”
“What if you decide to stay?”
Stay? I’d been thinking of this as a temporary detour while I figured out my next move. But lately, the idea of leaving had started to feel less like freedom and more like loss.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
“Where does your heart feel settled, Joy?”
I looked around the cozy living room with its crackling fire and twinkling tree and thought about the festival. The relationships I had formed with some of the residents. The way the town had welcomed me back like I’d never left.
“Here,” I whispered. “My heart feels settled here.”
She smiled like she already knew what I was going to say. “Then maybe that’s your answer.”
We worked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the soft dialogue from the movie and the occasional pop from the fireplace.
I found myself thinking about Cooper, wondering if he was having similar conversations with someone—his sister, maybe, or one of his close friends at the firehouse.
Was he analyzing what had happened between us with the same intensity I was? Was he weighing pros and cons, trying to logic his way through emotions that defied rational thought?
Or was he regretting ever kissing me in the first place? Did I just make things weird between us?
“There’s a difference between being cautious and being cowardly, Joy. The trick is knowing which one you’re being.”
“What would you do?” I asked. “If you were in my position?”
She was quiet for a long moment, considering the question with the seriousness it deserved. “I’d be honest with him,” she said finally. “About what I want, about my fears and about the fact that I’m scared but willing to try. And then I would let him decide if he’s ready to try too.”
“And if he’s not ready?”
“Then you’ll know where you stand. But Joy, honey—what if he is?”
What if Cooper was ready? What if the walls he’d built around his heart were already starting to come down? What if that night in city hall had meant as much to him as it had to me?
“I’m terrified,” I admitted.
“Good,” she said again, smiling. “Like I said, that means you’re about to do something that matters.”
We returned to our crafting, but my mind was already elsewhere. Maybe instead of overthinking and analyzing and protecting myself from every possible hurt, I could just be honest. Tell him how I felt, what I wanted and what I was afraid of.
And then let him decide if he was brave enough to want the same thing.