“Great,” Holly said with relief. “Mrs. Hall has very specific placement requirements, so I’ll spot you and make sure everything goes in the right locations.”
Spotting me. Which meant Holly would be standing close to the ladder, looking up at me while I hung romantic vegetation in strategic locations designed to encourage kissing. This was either the universe’s idea of a romantic setup or its idea of a cruel joke.
The first few mistletoe installations went smoothly. Holly directed me to hang sprigs above the hot chocolate station, near the carol singing area, and by the donation box for the children’s charity drive. Each location was chosen for maximum community interaction, and Mrs. Hall’s strategy was already working—I could see couples being steered under the mistletoe by helpful neighbors and friends, resulting in good-natured laughter and holiday kisses.
“One more,” Holly said, consulting her list as snow continued to fall around us. “Mrs. Hall wants one by the tree itself, right under the main light display.”
The tree was positioned in the center of the square, surrounded by the largest crowd and most holiday activity. Hanging mistletoe there would be like installing it in the middle of a Christmas-themed fishbowl, visible to absolutely everyone in attendance.
“That’s a very public location for mistletoe,” I pointed out as we moved the ladder into position.
“Mrs. Hall believes in the power of community witness,” Holly said with a grin. “She says public declarations of affection are good for town morale.”
Public declarations. As if Mrs. Hall was explicitly trying to create situations where people would end up kissing in front of the entire community. Which, knowing Mrs. Hall, was probably exactly what she was trying to do.
I climbed the ladder with the final sprig of mistletoe, acutely aware that Holly was standing directly below me, that half the town was watching our coordination efforts, and that hanging romantic vegetation while fighting my attraction to my beautiful co-chair was possibly the most complicated festival duty I’d ever volunteered for.
“Higher,” Holly called up. “It needs to be visible from all angles.”
I reached up to hang the mistletoe from a branch that put it directly in the center of the tree’s light display, ensuring it would be impossible to miss. As I worked to secure the sprig properly, a gust of winter wind shook the ladder, and I had to grab the tree trunk to steady myself.
“Careful!” Holly said, her hands flying to the ladder to help stabilize it. “Don’t you dare fall and break something days before the festival.”
“I’m fine,” I assured her, though the wind was picking up and the ladder was definitely less stable than it had been five minutes ago. “Just need to get this secured properly.”
Another gust of wind hit just as I was reaching to adjust the mistletoe placement, and this time the ladder swayed enough that Holly’s grip on it wasn’t sufficient to keep it steady.
“Declan, come down,” Holly called, genuine worry in her voice. “We can finish this when the wind dies down.”
But as I started to climb down, a particularly strong gust caught the ladder at exactly the wrong moment. I felt it tip, reached instinctively for the tree trunk, and managed to get myself down safely but not gracefully. In fact, I ended up stumbling directly into Holly, who caught me with surprising strength but couldn’t quite keep both of us upright in the snow.
We ended up in a tangle of limbs and winter coats, Holly beneath me in the snow, both of us laughing with the kind of relief that comes from avoiding actual injury. Her cheeks were flushed from cold and laughter, snowflakes were caught in her dark hair, and she was looking up at me with bright eyes and a smile that made my chest tight with want.
“That was graceful,” Holly said, still laughing. “Very professional ladder management.”
“I prefer to think of it as a dramatic mistletoe installation,” I said, suddenly aware that I was lying on top of Holly in the snow, in the middle of the town square, with approximately three hundred people watching our every move.
“Speaking of mistletoe,” Holly said softly, and her gaze flicked upward.
I followed her look and realized that my graceless dismount from the ladder had left us directly beneath the mistletoe I’d just hung. The same mistletoe that was now perfectly positioned above us, surrounded by Christmas lights and witnessed by the entire population of Everdale Falls.
“Holly,” I said quietly, but there was a warning in my voice. Warning about the public location, about the boundaries we’d agreed to maintain, about all the reasons this was complicated.
But Holly’s eyes were dark and focused on my mouth, and she was looking at me like she’d forgotten about all of those complications entirely.
“It’s mistletoe,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“It is,” I agreed, and despite every logical reason I should help her up and step away from the romantic vegetation, I found myself leaning closer instead.
The kiss happened like a moment of temporary insanity brought on by Christmas lights and snowflakes and the way Holly was looking at me like I was something worth risking her carefully maintained emotional walls for. Her lips were soft and cold from the winter air, and she tasted like hot chocolate and possibility.
For a moment, lying in the snow beneath the mistletoe with the entire town watching, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be kissing Holly Winters. The cold melted away, replaced by the warmth of her body pressed against mine, her winter-cold lips softening under mine. The complications and the fact that she was Matt’s little sister who’d once trailed after us with scraped knees and pigtails—all dissolved like snowflakes on skin. None of it mattered compared to the way she fit perfectly against me, the subtle vanilla scent of her perfume mingling with the pine-sharp air, and the way her gloved hand fisted in my coat, fingers digging into the wool like she didn’t want to let me go.
Then the crowd erupted in cheers and applause, and reality came crashing back.
We broke apart, both of us breathing hard, and I became acutely aware that we’d just provided the evening’s entertainment for three hundred people who were now clappingand wolf-whistling like they’d just witnessed the grand finale of a romantic comedy.
“Oh god,” Holly whispered, her cheeks going even redder as she realized the magnitude of our public display. “Everyone’s watching.”
