If the mayor only knew what kind of teamwork he’d almost walked in on, he probably would have had some very different comments about our collaboration.
“We’re making good progress,” Declan said, and his voice was perfectly normal, professional, like he hadn’t been about to kiss me thirty seconds earlier. “The venue layout is coming together well.”
“Splendid,” the mayor said. “I actually stopped by to see if you needed any additional municipal support—permits, equipment, that sort of thing. But it looks like you have everything well in hand.”
“We do,” I said quickly, probably too quickly, because the mayor’s smile took on a slightly knowing quality that suggested he might have noticed the flustered energy radiating from both of us. “Although maybe some higher step ladders.”
His gaze went to the feeble one that was provided, and he nodded. “Yes, of course, of course. I’ll have something sent over.”
He left without another word and Declan and I stood in the community center looking at everything except each other. The stepladder, the remaining garland, the rafters that still needed decorating—anything that didn’t require acknowledging what had almost happened between us.
“We should probably finish up here,” I said finally, aiming for casual and probably landing somewhere around awkward.
“Right,” Declan agreed. “Wait for the new ladder.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Declan had said my name, or the way his hands had felt, or the fact that for one impossible moment, I’d been absolutely certain he was going to kiss me.
More importantly, I’d been absolutely certain I was going to kiss him back.
Which was probably going to make the next two weeks of festival planning significantly more complicated than Mrs. Peterson’s manual had prepared us for.
Eleven
DECLAN
Storage Room Confessions
Having abandonedthe garlands while we waited for the new ladder, we decided to start at the bottom and work our way up. That led us to the Everdale Falls Community Center’s storage room, which had definitely not been designed with two adults in mind. Or adequate lighting. Or, apparently, any organizational system that would allow a person to locate basic festival supplies without conducting an archaeological expedition through fifteen years of accumulated holiday decorations.
“The extra extension cords have to be in here somewhere,” Holly said, squeezing past me in the narrow space between metal shelving units loaded with what appeared to be every Christmas decoration the town had ever purchased. “Mrs. Peterson specifically said she put them on the left side, behind the artificial wreaths.”
“Define ‘left side,’” I said, watching Holly maneuver around a precariously stacked tower of boxes labeled things likeMisc.GarlandandSanta Hats - Various Sizes.“Because from where I’m standing, the entire room appears to be one continuous wall of holiday storage.”
“The left side from the door,” Holly explained, reaching up to examine the contents of a high shelf. “Which would be... this side, I think.”
The movement stretched her fitted blue sweater across her breasts in a way that made it difficult to focus on extension cord logistics. She was beautiful, confident, completely comfortable in her own skin, and that was infinitely more attractive than any teenage memory I’d been harboring.
“Found them!” she announced triumphantly, standing on her tiptoes to reach a box markedElectrical - Festival Supplies.“Can you grab this? It’s just out of my reach.”
I moved behind her to reach the box she was indicating, which meant pressing close enough to feel the warmth from her body and catch the scent of her shampoo—something floral and clean that made me want to lean closer rather than focus on festival logistics.
“This one?” I asked, my voice slightly rougher than it should have been, reaching around her to grasp the box.
“That’s the one,” Holly said, but she didn’t step away when I lowered the box, and suddenly we were standing in the narrow space between storage shelves with barely an inch separating us.
The storage room was cramped and poorly lit, and filled with the musty smell of decorations that had been packed away for eleven months. It should have been the least romantic setting imaginable.
Instead, with Holly looking up at me with those unusual green eyes and her lips slightly parted like she was about to say something important, it felt like the most intimate space I’d ever occupied.
“Holly,” I said quietly, setting the box of extension cords on a nearby shelf without breaking eye contact.
“Yes?” she whispered, and the single word was breathless in a way that suggested she was as aware as I was of the charged atmosphere in the cramped storage space.
“We should probably get back to the setup,” I said, but I didn’t move away from her. If anything, I found myself leaning slightly closer, drawn by the way she was looking at me like she was having the same internal struggle between professional responsibility and something much more personal.
