Chapter 24
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.”
“Sold.” She closed the menu and leaned back in her chair. “So, how was your day? Any exciting medical emergencies?”
I told her about Harold and his rooftop reindeer adventure. She looked genuinely amused by my stories. Lynn had never wanted to hear about my job. She hated when I talked about it. It was a red flag I should have picked up on.
“Poor Harold,” she said when I finished the story. “But at least he was committed to the Christmas spirit. You have to admire his dedication.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” I agreed, surprised to realize I actually agreed with her. “Though next year I’m suggesting he hire a professional.”
“Screw that. We should invite him to volunteer with the festival.”
We ordered our food and fell into easy conversation about the festival preparations. We talked about the weather, which actually mattered when it came to an outdoor event. It felt natural, comfortable, like we’d been doing this for years instead of dancing around each other for a week.
But underneath the casual chat, I could feel the weight of what had happened between us.
There was still some serious unresolved tension.
We had barely scratched the itch. At least, that’s what I felt.
We were both carefully avoiding the subject, but it hung in the air between us like a held breath.
Finally, as we were finishing our entrees, Joy set down her fork and looked at me directly. “Cooper, we should probably talk about the other night.”
My stomach tightened, but I nodded. “Yeah. We should.”
She was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I need to know what you want from this. From… us. Are you even ready to try dating again? Because I don’t want to push you into something you’re not prepared for.”
The question was fair. I had been asking myself the same thing for the past two days. Was I ready? Was I healed enough from Lynn’s betrayal to risk my heart again? It wouldn’t be fair to Joy to lead her on if I wasn’t.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I’m not sure anyone’s ever really ready for something like this. But I know I like spending time with you. I know I think about you when we’re apart. I know that whatever this is between us, it feels different than anything I’ve experienced before.”
Joy’s eyes searched my face, looking for something I hoped she could find. “Different how?”
I thought about how to explain it without sounding like a complete mess.
“With Lynn, everything felt safe. Predictable. We had a plan, and we were following it. This feels more like…” I paused, searching for the right words.
“Like standing at the edge of a cliff and not knowing if there’s ground below or just empty air. ”
She smiled at that, a small, understanding smile. “Terrifying but exhilarating?”
“Exactly.” I reached across the table, covering her hand with mine.
Her skin was warm, soft, and the simple contact sent electricity up my arm.
“I can’t promise you I have it all figured out, Joy.
I can’t promise I won’t mess this up or that I’m completely over everything that happened with Lynn. But I’d like to try. With you.”
Her fingers curled around mine. “What would trying look like?”
“Maybe we don’t put labels on it right away,” I suggested. “Maybe we just see what happens naturally. Spend time together. Get to know each other again. See if this thing between us is real or just scratching an itch.”
She was quiet for a long moment, considering this. Then she nodded. “I can do that. No pressure, no expectations. Just seeing what develops.”
“Just seeing what develops,” I agreed.
But even as I said it, I knew we were both lying to ourselves. The pressure was already there. What I felt for Joy wasn’t casual or exploratory.
It was intense and demanding and absolutely important to me.
We finished dinner and walked slowly back to our cars, neither of us seeming eager to end the evening.
“Thank you for dinner,” Joy said when we reached her car. She looked up at me.
I was a little nervous about asking her to come over. Was that too much pressure? I could just lean in and give her a kiss and end the night.
“Come over,” I blurted out and waited for her to shut me down.
“Okay.”
Joy followed me in her car. I found myself checking my rearview mirror every few seconds, as if I needed to confirm she was really there, really coming home with me.
I led her inside and turned on a few lights, then offered her something to drink, both of us maintaining the pretense that this was just a casual visit.
But the moment I handed her a glass of wine, the moment our fingers brushed, and she looked up at me with those beautiful dark eyes, all pretense evaporated.
“Joy, I want you,” I said, coming out rough and low.
“I know,” she whispered, setting down the wine glass without taking a sip. “Me too.”
And then she was in my arms, warm and soft and exactly where she belonged. Our mouths found each other with desperate hunger.
Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer as I backed her against the kitchen counter.
“Are you sure?” I asked against her lips, even though stopping now might actually kill me.
“I’m sure,” she breathed, her hands already working at the buttons of my shirt. “I’m so sure, Cooper.”
If Joy wanted this, wanted me, then maybe it was okay to want her back. Maybe it was okay to stop protecting myself from something that felt this right.
I lifted her onto the counter, stepping between her legs and kissing her with everything I had. Her response was immediate and enthusiastic. Her body arched against mine as her hands explored my chest and shoulders.
“Bedroom,” she gasped against my mouth. “Please tell me you have a bedroom.”
I laughed. “I have a bedroom. And it’s much more comfortable than this kitchen counter. Or the breakroom table.”
“Then take me there,” she said, wrapping her legs around my waist.
I carried her down the hallway. Her mouth on my neck sent fire through my veins. I promised myself I was going to take my time tonight.