And based on the knowing looks the other committee members kept exchanging, our attempts at distance weren’t fooling anyone.
“The hot chocolate station needs to be positioned near the electrical hookup,” Declan was saying, pointing to a spot on the town square map. “But not so close to the caroling area that we have competing noise issues.”
“Agreed,” I said, leaning closer to examine the map and immediately regretting it when I caught a hint of his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of wood smoke from the cabin fireplace.
Focus, Holly. Festival logistics. Professional responsibilities. Not the way he’d whispered my name in the dark or how his hands had felt on my skin.
“What about the children’s craft area?” Sandra asked. “Do we have enough tables?”
“I can pick up additional tables from the church,” Declan offered, making a note in his planning folder.
“That works perfectly,” I said, and our eyes met across the table for just a moment before we both looked away.
“You two work so well together,” Mrs. Peterson observed with obvious satisfaction. “Like you’re perfectly in sync.”
In sync. That was one way to describe it.
“We’ve had practice,” Declan said carefully, and I could hear the double meaning in his words even if the committee members couldn’t.
By the time the meeting ended, my nerves were stretched thin from maintaining my composure while every cell in my body was aware of Declan’s presence. The committee members gathered their things with obvious reluctance, clearly hoping for more romantic revelations, but I was determined to get through this without providing additional fuel for the Everdale Falls gossip network.
“Same time tomorrow for final coordination?” Mrs. Peterson asked as everyone prepared to leave.
“Absolutely,” I confirmed, though tomorrow I’d also be preparing for my video interview and trying to figure out how to look professional and competent on camera while coordinating festival logistics and daydreaming about Declan Hayes.
“Excellent,” Sandra said, pausing at the door to give me a meaningful look. “And Holly? Sometimes the best opportunities come when we least expect them.”
I had no idea if she was talking about the festival, my career prospects, or my obvious attraction to Declan Hayes, but I nodded like her comment made perfect sense.
After everyone left, I found myself alone in my parents’ living room with Declan, surrounded by festival planning materials and the kind of awkward energy that came from pretending the previous night hadn’t fundamentally changed everything between us.
“So,” Declan said, packing up his notes with careful efficiency. “That went well.”
“Very… professional,” I agreed, though we both knew the committee members had seen right through our attempts at casual distance.
“About last night—” Declan started.
“We should probably focus on festival prep,” I interrupted quickly, not ready for whatever conversation he was about to initiate. “There’s still a lot to coordinate.”
Declan studied my face for a long moment, and I could see him weighing whether to push the issue or let me avoid the topic entirely.
“Right,” he said finally, though his tone suggested he wasn’t buying my deflection. “Festival prep.”
“Exactly,” I said, though what I was thinking was that everything about my feelings for Declan Hayes was complicated, and we were both doing an excellent job of pretending otherwise.
Especially when I had a video interview in Chicago in a few days that could change everything, and I still hadn’t found the courage to tell him about it.
While he was awake, at least.
Twenty-Five
DECLAN
Professional Distance and Other Impossible Tasks
If I’d thought maintainingprofessional distance from Holly Winters was challenging before we’d spent the night together, it was nothing compared to trying to coordinate festival logistics while pretending I couldn’t still taste her on my lips, or feel my cock inside her.
The morning after our committee meeting, I was standing in the town square at seven AM, ostensibly checking the electrical setup for vendor booths, but actually replaying the way she’d looked at me across the coffee table—like she was remembering exactly the same things I was remembering and working just as hard to forget them. My chest squeezed and I gulped back a breath, praying that the panic attack that was seconds away would fuck off. At this point, I’d rather be spending my time sitting on the toilet with the shits.
