“Extremely dedicated,” I agreed, stepping back and trying to look like a responsible adult even if my cock was raging so hard, it was starting to hurt.
“Well, don’t let me interrupt,” Margaret continued, clearly enjoying herself. “I just came to pick up the additional tablecloths. But please, continue with your... inventory management.”
She gathered what she needed and left us alone in the shed, but the moment was thoroughly broken. Holly busied herself with checking boxes and avoiding eye contact, while I tried to figure out how to bring up the subject of her leaving again, not to mention what my plans were after the holidays.
“We should probably get these supplies distributed,” Holly said, her voice carefully neutral.
“Probably,” I agreed, though what I was thinking was that we should probably have the conversation we’d been avoiding about what was happening between us.
The rest of the morning was an exercise in professional torture. Every task required coordination, which meant working in close proximity while pretending we weren’t hyperaware of each other. When Holly needed help carrying tables, our hands brushed. When I was setting up the sound system, she had to lean over me to check the connections. When we were both trying to untangle Christmas lights, we ended up literally tangled together in ways that made maintaining appropriate boundaries feel like a cosmic joke.
By lunch time, half the town had witnessed at least one moment of obvious chemistry between us, and the knowing looks were getting impossible to ignore.
“You two are adorable,” Sandra announced when we all gathered at the coffee shop for lunch planning.
“We’re just working together,” Holly said firmly, focusing on her coffee with the kind of intensity usually reserved for disarming explosives.
I caught Holly’s eye across the table and saw my own frustration reflected there. We were apparently terrible at hiding whatever was happening between us, and the entire town was treating our attempts at discretion like dinner theater.
Holly pulled out her planning folder, desperate to change the subject back to the matter at hand. “All the booths are confirmed, the caroling schedule is finalized, and the hot chocolate station setup is ready to go.”
She was all business, but I noticed she was avoiding looking at me directly, and when she reached for her pen at the same time I reached for my coffee, she pulled her hand back like I’d burned her.
“Perfect,” Sandra said, watching our careful dance with amusement. “You two make such an efficient team.”
My phone buzzed with another text from Richard:Need answer by tomorrow. Brennan merger briefing is Monday.
Tomorrow. Which was also the day before the festival started, and apparently, my deadline for deciding whether to go back to being a Manhattan corporate lawyer or continue this experiment in small-town living as a respectable adult, whether Holly stayed here or not.
“Everything okay?” Holly asked, noticing my expression.
“Just work stuff,” I said, putting my phone away and trying to focus on the meeting instead of career decisions that suddenly felt incredibly complicated.
“New York work?” Sandra asked with interest.
“Yeah,” I said reluctantly. “Some things heating up that might require my attention.”
I saw Holly’s expression shift slightly, becoming more guarded, though she tried to hide it behind professional interest.
“Nothing that can’t wait until after the festival, I hope,” Margaret said. “We need our coordination team intact.”
“Of course,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure that was true anymore.
The rest of lunch was filled with festival logistics and cheerful speculation about weekend weather, but I caught Holly watching me several times with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Like she was calculating something, or trying to make a decision about something she wasn’t ready to share.
After we finished eating, I walked her back to her car, both of us carefully maintaining the two-foot buffer zone we’d apparently established to keep from spontaneously combusting in public.
I cleared my throat. “About what happened in the shed earlier?—”
“Nothing happened in the shed,” Holly said with the conviction of someone denying they ate the last cookie while still holding the empty package. “We just got tangled up while checking inventory.”
“Right,” I said. “And the Titanic just had a minor ice-related incident.”
She glared at me, jabbing her key fob so aggressively I half expected her car to explode rather than unlock. “We have a festival to coordinate. That’s what we’re focusing on.”
She climbed into her car, slammed the door in my face and peeled out of the parking lot like she was auditioning for Fast & Furious: Small Town Edition, leaving me standing there with the distinct feeling I’d just been rejected by a woman who, thirtyminutes earlier, had looked at me like I was a chocolate fountain at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
My phone rang. Richard. Again. Probably calling to ask if I’d made the career-defining decision that would determine the rest of my life. No pressure.
