Chapter 26
COOPER
The town square buzzed with excited chatter and the sound of children’s laughter as families gathered around their assigned stations.
Each group was equipped with a carefully constructed pile of packed snow and a table laden with decorating supplies.
Carrots in various sizes for noses and buttons for eyes and mouths.
There were an assortment of colorful scarves and mittens that had been collected for a charity drive and would be given to those in need after the contest. There were hats ranging from top hats to baseball caps along with festive bows, corncob pipes, and what appeared to be every random household item that could conceivably be used to bring a snowman to life.
The collection process started right after Halloween. It was a chance for people to get rid of crap they didn’t want, and it would all end up going to people who could use it.
I stood at the edge of the square with Matt and Katrina, clipboard in hand, running through my mental checklist of potential safety hazards.
The snow was good and packable—not too wet, not too dry—which reduced the risk of participants overexerting themselves trying to build with uncooperative material.
The spacing between stations was adequate to prevent collisions between enthusiastic builders.
The first aid station was clearly marked and easily accessible.
I told myself to relax. It was a snowman building contest. Not a snowball fight. There was no real danger.
But people had long surprised me with their very creative ways of finding trouble. I couldn’t even name all of the calls we had been on that had left me scratching my head and wondering why.
Basically, I didn’t trust humans.
“This is so much fun,” Katrina said, bouncing slightly on her toes as she watched a family of four attempt to hoist a massive snowball for their snowman’s midsection. “I love how into it everyone gets.”
“The Millers are planning on going all out this year,” Matt observed, nodding toward a station where they were discussing an elaborate snow sculpture. “Is that supposed to be a snow castle?”
“I think it’s a snow nativity scene,” I said, squinting at their sketched-out drawing at their workstation. “Very festive, potentially unstable.”
Matt laughed. “There’s the Cooper we know and love. Always looking for the structural weaknesses.”
Before I could respond to that, or point out that someone needed to be concerned about structural integrity when children were involved, a familiar voice called my name.
“Cooper!”
I turned to see Joy approaching, her cheeks pink from the cold and her eyes bright with excitement. She wore a red knit hat that made her look about seventeen, and there was something infectious about her enthusiasm that made me smile despite myself.
I waited for the awkward to hit. She had spent the night at my place. And then dipped out.
“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual even as my pulse kicked up a notch.
We’d spent the night together three days ago, and while we’d texted a few times since then, this was the first time I’d seen her in person.
The memory of how she’d felt in my arms was never going to leave me.
But it was the sounds she made when I kissed that spot just below her ear or pushed into her tight little body that were making me hard.
“Perfect timing,” she said, slightly breathless from hurrying over.
“One of the families just canceled last minute. Something about a sick kid. And there’s an open station.
” She gestured toward an abandoned pile of snow and decorating table.
“The three of you should take it. You could represent the fire department.”
“Oh, we’re not really—” I started, but Katrina cut me off.
“That’s a fantastic idea!” my sister said, clapping her hands together. “Come on, Cooper. When’s the last time you built a snowman?”
“I’m on duty,” I pointed out. “I’m supposed to be monitoring for safety issues, not participating.”
“The safety issues will still be there in an hour,” Matt interrupted with a grin. “Besides, what better way to monitor the contest than from the inside?”
I looked between the three of them and realized I was outnumbered. Outmaneuvered, actually, by people who knew me well enough to understand that I couldn’t resist a logical argument, even when it was being used against me.
I saw the move for what it was. They were all trying to un-Grinch me.
“Fine,” I said, trying to sound reluctant even though part of me was actually curious about the whole snowman contest. “But if someone gets hurt because I was distracted building Frosty the Fireman, it’s on your heads.”
“Deal,” Joy said with a bright smile.
And just like that my cock was climbing out of the warmth between my legs and looking for a little action.
Thank God I had on thick pants and a bulky coat to hide things.
We made our way to the abandoned station, and I had to admit the setup was impressive.
The snow pile was substantial but manageable.
The decorating table held an impressive array of supplies.
Someone had clearly put thought into making sure each team had everything they needed to create their vision, whatever it might be.
“So what’s the plan?” Matt asked. “Traditional snowman? Something more creative?”
“Let’s start with the basics and see where inspiration takes us,” Katrina suggested. She was already scooping up snow, packing it into what would become the base of our creation. “Three balls, stack them up, then add the decorations.”
The contest officially began with a cheerful air horn blast from the mayor and suddenly the square was filled with focused activity. Families bent over their snow piles, rolling and shaping and occasionally arguing about the best technique for achieving perfectly round snowballs.
Our first attempt at a base was less than perfect.
“It’s more oval than round,” Katrina observed, tilting her head to study our lumpy creation.
“The snow’s not packing quite right,” I said, which was my diplomatic way of saying that none of us apparently possessed any natural snowman-building talent.
“Maybe if we roll it more?” Matt suggested, and the three of us attempted to maneuver our misshapen base around the small area, hoping to achieve better symmetry through momentum.
The result was marginally more spherical but significantly more lopsided.
“This is harder than it looks,” Matt admitted, wiping snow off his gloves.
By the time we’d managed to construct something resembling a middle section and attempted to hoist it onto our base, our snowman looked less like the jolly figures at the neighboring stations and more like, well, something else entirely.
Maybe an ogre. If only we had green spray paint.
“Is it just me, or does this look more like a dog than a snowman?” Matt asked, stepping back to survey our handiwork.
He was right. Our lumpy, asymmetrical creation, with its elongated middle section and the way the head sat at a slight angle, bore a distinct resemblance to a large canine sitting upright.
“Oh my God, it totally does.” Katrina laughed. “It looks like a golden retriever or something.”
I studied our accidental sculpture, inspiration beginning to form. “Actually,” I said slowly, “that gives me an idea.”
Matt looked at me like he thought I might truly be losing it. “Yeah?”
“What if we lean into it? Instead of fighting the shape, what if we make it into a snow dog on purpose?” I gestured toward the decorating table. “We could make it a dalmatian. Use the coal to make spots.”
“A dalmatian!” Katrina’s eyes lit up. “That’s perfect! They’re like the unofficial mascot of firehouses.”
“Exactly.” I found myself getting genuinely excited about the idea. “We could add a fire hat, maybe fashion some kind of collar.”
“I love it,” Katrina said. “It’s creative, it ties into the fire department theme, and it works with what we’ve already built.”
“Plus, it’s probably a lot easier than trying to make this thing look like a proper snowman,” Matt added practically.
So we pivoted. Instead of trying to salvage our snowman, we embraced our happy accident and began transforming our creation into the world’s largest snow dalmatian.
I found myself taking the lead, which surprised me.
Usually, I was content to let others drive creative projects while I focused on the practical details.
But there was something about this challenge—the problem-solving aspect, the way we had to work together to achieve our vision—that engaged a part of my brain I didn’t use very often.
“The head needs to be more dog-like,” I said, reshaping the top portion to be longer and less round. “And we should add ears.”
Katrina was already scooping up snow to form ears, while Matt worked on refining the body shape to look more convincingly canine. I sorted through the available supplies to find items that would work for our new design.
“Hey, there’s a red baseball cap that could work as a fire hat if we position it right,” I suggested.
As we worked, I became aware that our station was drawing attention. Other families were glancing over with curiosity and amusement, and I could hear snippets of conversation about the “fire department’s snow dog.”
“That’s actually really clever,” I heard one father say to his wife. “Why didn’t we think of something like that?”
“Because we’re not as creative as they are,” she replied, which made me flush with unexpected pride.
Katrina was adding the final touches to our dalmatian, using pieces of coal to give the dog its signature spots, when she looked up at me with a grin.
“You know, for someone who was reluctant to participate, you’ve really gotten into this,” she observed.
She was right. Somewhere between deciding to embrace our accidental dog shape and watching our vision come to life, I had forgotten to be self-conscious about participating in what I initially dismissed as a silly event. I was actually having fun.
“It’s a good problem-solving exercise,” I said, though even I could hear the defensiveness in my voice.
“Uh-huh.” Katrina’s smile was knowing. “Very practical and logical, this snowman building.”
“Snow dog building,” I corrected automatically, and she laughed.
“Right. Snow dog building. Much more serious.”
The judging began thirty minutes later, with Mayor Winslow and two other volunteers making their way from station to station with clipboards and serious expressions.
Joy was following behind her. She wasn’t a judge, but this was her event.
Categories included Most Traditional, Most Festive, Largest, and Most Creative, with ribbons for each winner.
When the judges reached our station, I felt a flutter of nervousness that surprised me. When had I started caring whether our snow dalmatian won anything?
“Well, this is certainly unique,” the mayor said, walking around our creation with obvious interest. “A dalmatian, I’m guessing? Very fitting for the fire department.”
“It started as a regular snowman,” Katrina explained, “but when it ended up looking more like a dog, my brother suggested we go with it.”
“Your brother has good instincts,” one of the other judges said, making notes on her clipboard. “It’s creative, well executed, and tells a story. I like the attention to detail with the spots and the hat. You all did a great job.”
They moved on to the next station. I found myself watching their progress with more interest than I cared to admit.
Our snow dalmatian sat proudly in its spot, red cap jauntily positioned, coal spots scattered in a realistic pattern across its white body.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was fun. I was surprised by how attached to it I’d become in such a short time.
The announcement came twenty minutes later. Mayor Winslow’s voice carried clearly across the square as he called out the winners in each category.
“Most Creative goes to the fire department’s snow dalmatian!”
A cheer went up from our little group, and I found myself grinning as Katrina threw her arms around me in a spontaneous hug.
“We won!” Katrina said, bouncing on her toes. “We actually won!”
“I can’t believe it,” Matt added, shaking his head with amazement. “We went from snowman failure to contest winner.”
As we accepted our ribbon and posed for pictures with our prize-winning creation, I caught Joy’s eye over Katrina’s head. She was smiling and actually looked proud of us.