“I’m sorry about that,” she said without looking at me. “Mom gets enthusiastic about visitors.”
“She’s being nice,” I said, though I’d definitely noticed the undercurrent of matchmaking in Linda’s commentary.
“She’s being obvious.” Holly opened the festival binder and started flipping through pages with more force than necessary. “She thinks having you here will somehow fix whatever’s wrong with my life.”
The bitter edge in her voice made something tighten in my chest. “There’s nothing wrong with your life, Holly.”
“I’m twenty-eight years old, living in my childhood bedroom after getting fired from my dream job while in the middle of being evicted and cleaned out by my fucking ex,” she snapped, but then she looked up at me, her expression a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. “I think most people would consider that something wrong.”
“I think most people would consider that a temporary setback, not a character flaw.” I was careful not to react to the information dump. It sounded rough. No wonder Matt was so determined about this festival planning. Holly had been going through some real shit, and all I was doing was thinking inappropriate thoughts about her bouncing up and down on my cock, those luscious tits in my face, those nipples so bitable…
She stared at me for a moment, like she was trying to determine whether I was being genuine or just politely kind. Then she turned back to the binder with renewed focus.
“Anyway,” she said, “none of that is your problem. We should figure out what we’re actually supposed to be doing here.”
I let her change the subject, though I filed away her defensive response for future consideration. Clearly, Holly’s confidence had taken a big hit from her situation. So I did what she wanted me to do. We worked through Mrs. Peterson’s materials, and I was struck by how quickly Holly transformed once she had something concrete to focus on. The defensive posture melted away, replaced by a kind of organized competence that was quite sexy. She made lists, asked questions, and cross-referenced vendor information with budget requirements.
“Okay,” she said, pushing a legal pad covered in neat handwriting toward me, “I think I’ve got the basic structure figured out. Three main areas—vendor booths, entertainment stage, and family activities. We need permits for all of them, plus coordination with the fire department for the bonfire and insurance verification for the petting zoo.”
I studied her notes, impressed by how she’d managed to organize Mrs. Peterson’s chaotic information into something logical and actionable.
“This is really good,” I said. “You’ve thought of things I completely missed.”
“Like what?”
“Bathroom facilities. Trash collection. Parking overflow.” I gestured at her list. “All the unglamorous details that make the difference between a successful event and a disaster.”
Holly looked pleased but tried to hide it. “That’s just basic event planning.”
“Basic event planning that a lot of people forget about until it’s too late.”
She smiled, and we divided responsibilities, but that’s when we hit our first real disagreement.
“I think we should stick with the traditional vendor lineup,” Holly said, consulting a printed list. “Same families who’ve participated for the last ten years, same booth arrangements. People expect certain things at the Christmas festival.”
I frowned at the list, noting several vendors whose products seemed outdated or overpriced. “But what about adding some variety? Maybe reach out to some of the newer businesses in town, give people more options?”
“Change for the sake of change isn’t always better,” Holly said, and there was something defensive in her tone. “These vendors are reliable. They show up, they follow the rules, and people look forward to seeing them every year.”
“I’m not suggesting we eliminate anyone,” I said carefully. “Just maybe expand the options. Add a few new choices to the mix.”
“New choices that might not understand how things work here.” Holly’s voice had cooled noticeably. “This festival is a community tradition.”
The implied criticism stung more than it should have. “I understand that. I’m just thinking about ways to make it even better.”
“Better according to whom? The people who live here and love it the way it is, or someone who’s been away for ten years and thinks he can improve everything in a couple of weeks?”
The words hung between us, sharp and loaded with more tension than vendor selection should have warranted. Holly’s face went red the moment she said it, like she hadn’t meant to be quite that blunt, but she didn’t take it back.
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” I said, keeping my voice level despite the defensive anger rising in my chest. “Besides, couldn’t the same be said about you? When was the last timeyouwere back in Everdale Falls, Holly? How do you know the community doesn’t want to shake things up a bit?”
Holly set down her pen and looked at me directly. “You show up with your fancy clothes, successful life and your New York experience, volunteer to help with the little small-town festival, and immediately start suggesting ways to fix it.”
“Holly—” Her reaction is absurd. She left as soon as she could, by all accounts, just like I did.
“I know you mean well,” she continued, her voice softer but no less pointed. “But this matters to people. It’s not broken just because it’s not cutting-edge or maximally efficient.”
I stared at her, trying to process the disconnect between the woman who’d been collaborating so effectively ten minutes ago and the defensive stranger sitting across from me now.
