This was exactly the kind of awareness that had been making festival planning significantly more complicated than Mrs. Peterson's manual had prepared me for.
"I think the problem is we're overloading the circuits," Holly continued, completely oblivious to my internal struggle with professional focus. "Too many light strings running through outlets that were designed for basic electrical needs."
She stood up and brushed dust off her hands, the movement unconsciously graceful in a way that made something tighten in my chest. Holly had always been pretty, but watching her move through space now—confident, competent, completely comfortable in her own skin—was mesmerizing in a way that teenage me would never have imagined.
"So what's the solution?" I asked, forcing myself to focus on electrical problems rather than the way her sweater clung to her body.
"We need to redistribute the electrical load," she said, pulling out her planning notebook and flipping to a page covered with what appeared to be a hand-drawn electrical diagram. "If we run extension cords from multiple outlets instead of daisy-chaining everything through the same circuit, we should be able to handle the full lighting display without burning down the building."
I stared at her makeshift electrical schematic, impressed despite myself. "Holly, did you just design a power distribution system?"
"It's not rocket science," she said, but there was a pleased flush to her cheeks that suggested she was proud of her problem-solving. "I just paid attention during the setup walkthrough and figured out where the separate circuits probably run."
"That's..." I paused, trying to find words that wouldn't sound condescending. "That's actually brilliant. And probably exactly what a professional electrician would recommend."
"Probably?" Holly raised an eyebrow. "Are you questioning my amateur electrical engineering skills?"
"I wouldn't dare," I said solemnly. "I'm too impressed by your amateur electrical engineering skills to question them."
Her laugh was bright and genuine, and the sound of it made me want to find more ways to make her laugh like that. Which was problematic, given that I was supposed to be maintaining professional boundaries rather than looking for excuses to make Holly Winters smile.
"Okay," she said, consulting her diagram again, "if we're going to do this properly, we'll need to crawl around behind all the decorations to run extension cords to different outlets. It's going to be cramped and probably dusty and definitely not glamorous."
"Good thing I wore my crawling-around-behind-Christmas-decorations outfit," I said, gesturing at my jeans and sweater.
"Is that what that is?" Holly looked me up and down with mock seriousness. "I thought it was your trying-to-look-casual-while-secretly-being-a-fancy-lawyer outfit."
"That too," I admitted. "Multi-purpose clothing. Very practical."
"Very lawyer-like," Holly said with a grin. "Always prepared for multiple scenarios."
We got to work crawling around behind vendor booths and decoration displays, running extension cords according to Holly's electrical diagram. It was exactly as cramped and dusty as she'd predicted, but it was also oddly intimate to be working together in tight spaces, passing equipment back and forth, occasionally bumping into each other in ways that made my pulse spike.
"Can you hand me that extension cord?" Holly asked from somewhere behind the artificial Christmas tree that was serving as the festival's centerpiece.
I crawled over to where she was kneeling, threading electrical cords through the tree's base, and found myself close enough to smell her shampoo. It was something floral that made me want to lean closer instead of handing over the electrical equipment.
"Here," I said, passing her the cord, and our fingers brushed in the exchange. The contact was brief, innocent, but it sent an uncomfortable jolt of awareness through me that had nothing to do with electrical currents.
Holly glanced up at me, and for a moment we were just looking at each other in the cramped space behind the Christmas tree, surrounded by extension cords and the smell of artificial pine needles. Her lips were slightly parted, and there was something in her expression that suggested she was feeling the same electric tension I was.
"Holly," I said quietly, and I wasn't entirely sure what I was planning to say next.
"Yeah?" she whispered, and the single word sounded breathless.
"I think..." I started, then stopped, because what I was thinking was that I wanted to kiss her again. That I'd been thinking about kissing her for days. That working this closely with her was making it increasingly difficult to remember why professional boundaries were important.
But professional boundaries were important. Holly was dealing with her own life crisis, rebuilding after professional and personal devastation. I was on sabbatical, trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my future. We were co-chairing a community festival that mattered to both of us and to the entire town.
And she was Matt's sister.
"This is getting complicated," I said finally, settling back on my heels to put some distance between us.
Holly blinked, and I watched her process the abrupt shift from whatever moment we'd been having to my suddenly practical statement.
"What do you mean?" she asked carefully.
"I mean..." I gestured vaguely at the space between us, trying to find words for the growing attraction that was making every interaction feel charged with possibility. "This. Us. Working together."
