Some electrical problems, apparently, were easier to fix than others.
Fourteen
HOLLY
Brother’s Intervention
I was standingin my childhood bedroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror that had witnessed approximately a thousand teenage outfit crises, trying to decide if the black top and pink polka dot skirt I was wearing sent the right message for tomorrow’s vendor meeting. The right message being that I’m a competent festival coordinator rather than a woman who spent twenty minutes choosing an outfit because she wanted to look good for her co-chair.
The top fit perfectly, and the skirt was cute. I looked good. I knew I looked good. I’d always known I looked good, even when certain people in my life had tried to convince me otherwise.
The problem wasn’t my appearance. The problem was that I kept choosing outfits based on how I thought Declan would react to them, which was precisely the kind of behavior that had led me to make terrible decisions about Derek.
I stripped off immediately when that thought sank into my soul and chipped another piece of it away.
My phone rang, interrupting my internal meltdown.
“Holly!” Matt’s voice was bright with the kind of forced cheer that meant he was calling to deliver news he knew I wouldn’t want to hear. “How’s the festival planning going?”
“You are an ass for dumping me with this. When are you coming home?” I demanded.
“Soon,” he said coyly. Too fucking coyly. “How’s it going?”
I sighed. He wasn’t going to let me wiggle out of this one. “It’s going well,” I said, settling onto my bed and trying not to think about how Declan had looked at me earlier when we were crawling around behind Christmas decorations. “We’ve got most of the logistics figured out, vendor confirmations are coming in, and we solved a major electrical crisis today.”
“We?”
There was something pointed in the way Matt said it, like he was fishing for information about my collaboration with his best friend.
“Declan and I,” I said carefully. “Remember? The other one you volunteered without asking either of us first?”
“Right, about that,” Matt said with the sheepish tone that confirmed my suspicion that this phone call had an agenda. “I wanted to check in and make sure everything’s working out okay. You two getting along all right?”
Getting along. As if the problem was compatibility rather than the fact that I was developing increasingly inappropriate feelings for someone who was supposed to be helping me organize a community festival, who was my older brother’s best friend and who lives hundreds of miles away from both Everdale Falls and Chicago.
“We’re getting along fine,” I said, which was technically true if you ignored the part where boundaries felt increasingly theoretical every time we were in the same room.
“Good, good,” Matt said, and I could hear him typing in the background, which meant he was probably still at work despite it being almost eight o’clock. “And Declan’s being... nice?”
Nice. I nearly snorted into the phone. But the question made me pause, mainly because I wasn’t sure how to answer it. Declan had been completely nice in every interaction we’d had. He’d also been funny, thoughtful, attractive, and today he’d spent forty-seven minutes crawling around behind Christmas decorations helping me solve electrical problems while looking unfairly good in jeans that fit him perfectly. His kiss wasnice. He was just fucking nice. Nice to everyone. And that thought made me sink even lower. Derek was nice to everyone. He had been nice to me. His kisses were nice. I knew deep down I needed to stop comparing them, but I couldn’t help it. Derek was still too fresh in my mind.
“Why are you asking?” I said instead of answering.
“Because you’re my little sister, and after what Derek did to you, I’m maybe feeling a little overprotective,” Matt said, his voice taking on the particular tone that meant he was prepared to drive to Vermont right now and defend my honor if necessary. “I know Declan’s a good guy, but you’re vulnerable right now, and I don’t want anyone taking advantage of that.”
Vulnerable. The word hit me like a slap, even though I knew Matt meant it with love rather than judgment. Our mother had obviously been gossiping to her golden eldest child.
“I’m not vulnerable,” I grit out, probably too quickly. “I’m rebuilding. There’s a difference.”
“Holly, the man you trusted cheated on you, cleaned out your bank accounts and left you homeless right before Christmas. That’s not the kind of thing someone just bounces back from in a few weeks.”
The casual way Matt summarized the complete destruction of my love life, financial stability and emotional trust mademy chest tight. It was accurate, but hearing it said out loud—especially in the context of my growing feelings for Declan—made me realize how pathetic my situation probably looked from the outside.
“I’m handling it,” I said firmly. “And I’m not going to make the same mistakes again.”
“I know you’re handling it,” Matt said gently. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. But strength doesn’t mean you have to handle everything alone. And it doesn’t mean you have to be suspicious of everyone who shows interest in you.”
Interest. As if my attraction to Declan was obvious enough that Matt was worried about it from three states away.
