But Chicago also meant leaving Everdale Falls. Leaving my family, who’d been nothing but supportive during the worst period of my life.
Leaving Declan, who’d just shown me that sex could be something incredible with someone incredible.
I was still trying to sort through the tangled mess of my emotions when my mother’s voice drifted up from downstairs.
“Holly! The festival committee is here!”
Festival committee. Right. Time to pretend I was a competent event coordinator instead of someone having an emotional crisis about career choices and men who made me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel.
I headed downstairs to find my parents’ living room transformed into festival headquarters. Mrs. Peterson was spread out at the dining table with vendor contracts, Sandra had claimed the coffee table for her volunteer coordination lists, and my mother was bustling around offering everyone coffee and Christmas cookies like we were hosting a holiday party instead of conducting emergency logistics coordination.
“Holly!” Mrs. Peterson called out as I entered the room. “Perfect timing. We need to discuss the hot chocolate station setup and the caroling schedule and—oh my goodness, you look absolutely radiant this morning!”
Radiant. God, I hoped my post-sex glow wasn’t that obvious.
“Thank you,” I said carefully, settling into the armchair and trying to project competence instead of ‘I spent last night having incredible sex and this morning digging cars out of snow.’
“You do look particularly glowing,” Sandra agreed, studying my face with the kind of attention that made me nervous. “Very refreshed. Like you got excellent sleep.”
I had definitely not gotten excellent sleep, but I wasn’t about to explain that to the festival committee.
“Fresh air,” I said quickly. “I was up north for the night.” I couldn’t lie. My mother knew I hadn’t made it home.
“Speaking of which,” Mom said, settling into her chair with obvious excitement, “how did that go?”
“We got snowed in,” I said, sticking to the basic facts. “Had to wait until this morning to dig out the car.”
“Oh, yes, The Hayes’ new vacation home!” Mom blurted out.
“How romantic!” Mrs. Peterson exclaimed, clasping her hands together like she was watching the climax of a holiday movie. “Snowed in together in a cozy cabin during a winter storm!”
“It was very practical,” I said firmly, though what I was thinking was that there had been absolutely nothing practical about what we’d done in that cabin.
“I’m sure it was,” Sandra said with a knowing smile that suggested she wasn’t buying my practical narrative for a second.
Before I could figure out how to redirect the conversation toward actual festival business, the front door opened and Declan walked in, carrying a box of what looked like vendor supplies and looking unfairly attractive for someone who’d spent the morning engaged in manual labor.
“Ladies,” he said with a smile that made my pulse quicken in ways that were entirely inappropriate for this meeting. “Sorry I’m late. Had to pick up the additional extension cords from the hardware store.”
“Declan!” Mrs. Peterson practically sang. “We were just hearing about your snowed-in adventure with Holly!”
I watched a slight flush creep up Declan’s neck as he set down the box and carefully avoided making eye contact with me.
“Just a logistical challenge,” he said diplomatically. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Nothing we couldn’t handle. As if being trapped together in a cabin with one bed and prehistoric coffee was just another item on our festival coordination checklist.
“Well, you both look wonderfully refreshed,” my mother observed with the kind of maternal insight that suggested she was reading way more into the situation than I was comfortable with.
“Mom,” I said warningly.
“What? I’m just saying you both seem very... energized this morning.”
Declan finally looked at me, and the brief moment of eye contact sent heat flooding through my entire system. Because I could see in his expression that he was remembering exactly the same things I was—the way he’d touched me, the way I’d responded, the way we’d fallen asleep tangled together like we belonged that way.
“Right,” I said quickly, grabbing my festival binder and flipping it open with unnecessary enthusiasm. “Should we focus on the final preparations? We have a lot to coordinate.”
For the next hour, we managed to maintain an almost severe focus while reviewing vendor arrangements, volunteer schedules, and contingency plans for weather-related complications. But I was hyperaware of every time Declan spoke, every gesture he made, every moment when our hands accidentally brushed while reaching for the same document.
