“I meanChristmasmusic,” Mrs. Brooks corrected herself while looking directly at Declan and me, making it clear that she knew what she said all along. Had Mum been gossiping? What was going on here?
“We’ll make sure the music is appropriate for the event,” Declan said diplomatically.
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Hall said. “And you’ll both be there for the entire festival, of course? All three days?”
“That’s the plan,” I said, wondering why this felt like a trap.
“Together,” Mrs. Patterson clarified unnecessarily. “Working together the whole time.”
“Well, yes, that’s generally how co-chairing works,” I said, and immediately regretted the slight edge in my voice when several women exchanged knowing looks.
“Of course it is, sweetheart,” Mrs. Brooks said soothingly. “We’re just so pleased to see you two collaborating. You complement each other so well.”
Complement each other.Like we were paint colors or furniture pieces rather than two people trying to organize a community event. I shot a look at Declan, whose gaze was boring into me, and my cheeks flushed unexpectedly.
“Are there any specific questions about the festival itself?” Declan asked, dragging his gaze away from me, clearly recognizing that we were veering dangerously far from actual event planning.
“Will there be dancing?” someone called from the middle of the room.
“Dancing?” I repeated.
“At the tree lighting ceremony,” Mrs. Johnson clarified. “There should definitely be dancing. Very romantic, dancing under the Christmas lights.”
“I don’t think—” I began.
“Oh, that’s a lovely idea,” Mrs. Peterson interrupted. “Holly, you and Declan should definitely plan some dancing. For the community, of course.”
“For the community,” Mrs. Brooks agreed with a straight face that fooled absolutely no one.
At this point, I was beginning to feel like I was trapped in some kind of small-town romantic comedy where the entire population had collectively decided to meddle in my love life. Which would have been embarrassing enough under normal circumstances but was particularly mortifying when the object of their matchmaking efforts was sitting right next to me, witnessing every painful moment of this spectacle.Mom had a lot to explain at this point. I was fuming!
“We’ll take all suggestions under consideration,” I said firmly, hoping to redirect the conversation back to actual logistics.
“Excellent,” Mrs. Peterson said. “Now, are there any questions about vendor applications or volunteer scheduling?”
Mr. Bennett raised his hand. “What about setup and teardown? Do you need help with the heavy lifting?”
Finally, a practical question. “Yes, definitely,” I said gratefully. “We’ll need volunteers for both, especially for the stage and vendor booth construction.”
“Count me in,” Mr. Bennett said. “And I’ll bring a few guys from the hardware store.”
“I can coordinate food vendor setup,” Mrs. Johnson offered. “Done it before, know where everything goes.”
We managed then to discuss legitimate festival business. Volunteer coordination, permit requirements, setup schedules, vendor fees. It was productive and professional and exactly the kind of meeting I’d hoped we’d have.
Until Mrs. Hall raised her hand during the question period.
“Holly, dear,” she said with the sort of sweet smile that immediately put me on alert, “have you and Declan had a chance to walk through the venue together yet? To get a feel for the space as a team?”
“We’ve both been to the community center plenty of times,” I said carefully.
“Oh, but that’s different,” Mrs. Brooks chimed in. “You need to see it through planning eyes. Together. To make sure you’re both envisioning the same layout.”
“She’s absolutely right,” Mrs. Patterson agreed. “You should definitely do a walkthrough together. Maybe tomorrow evening when it’s all lit up and romantic—I mean, when you can see how the Christmas lights will look.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Declan said, and I glared at him in surprise. “Not the romantic part,” he added quickly, which made several women giggle like schoolgirls, “but surveying the space together would be helpful for planning purposes.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Peterson said with obvious satisfaction. “Holly, would tomorrow evening work for you?”
