“All right, everyone,” Matt’s voice came through the speakers again. “Festival officially opens in thirty minutes. Final positions, and let’s show these weather-defying visitors what Vermont Christmas spirit looks like!”
As volunteers scattered to their positions and the first festival attendees began arriving despite the snow, I realized that the next few hours were going to test more than our event coordination skills.
They were going to test whether Holly and I could continue pretending that what was happening between us was a blip in the sea of our professional lives, or if we were finally going to admit that some things were worth risking everything for.
Even if one of those things was my best friend’s little sister, and even if admitting it meant having the most awkward conversation in the history of male friendship.
But first, we had a Christmas festival to run. In a blizzard. While half the town watched us fall in love in real time.
Some days, corporate law seemed like the simpler option.
Twenty-Eight
HOLLY
Family Dynamics
The first dayof the Everdale Falls Christmas Festival was, against all odds, a rousing success. Despite the fact that Mother Nature had apparently decided to test our commitment to holiday cheer by dumping approximately half the year’s snow supply on our small Vermont town, people showed up. They came bundled in enough winter gear to outfit an arctic expedition, clutching thermoses of hot beverages like survival equipment, and wearing the kind of determined smiles that implied Christmas would happen, even if we had to build igloos around the vendor booths.
What was significantly less successful was my ability to avoid my brother’s increasingly obvious romantic surveillance.
“So,” Matt said, appearing beside me at the hot chocolate booth with the stealth of a ninja and the grin of someone who’d just won the lottery, “that was some pretty intense vendor coordination earlier.”
“It was perfectly normal vendor coordination,” I said, stirring the hot chocolate with perhaps more force than necessary. “Very professional vendor coordination.”
“Right,” Matt said, accepting a cup from me. “Professional. That’s why you and Declan kept looking at each other like you were mentally undressing each other in front of the entire craft booth section.”
I nearly choked on my drink. “We were not?—”
“Holly,” Matt interrupted gently, “I’ve known you since you were born, and I’ve known Declan since we were twelve. I can read both of you like picture books. Very obvious, poorly written picture books about people who are terrible at hiding their feelings.”
I looked around the festival, where Declan was currently helping Mrs. Peterson adjust a vendor banner that had come loose in the wind. He was wearing a dark wool coat that made his shoulders look impossibly broad, and when he turned to say something to Mrs. Peterson, his laugh carried across the square in a way that made my stomach flutter like a caffeinated butterfly.
“We’re just working together,” I said weakly, though even I didn’t believe it anymore.
“Uh-huh,” Matt said, following my gaze. “And I’m moving back to Everdale Falls to play the banjo and groom dogs.”
“Funny,” I said with more bite than necessary. “You are a funny guy.”
“Holly, you’ve been staring at him for the past thirty seconds with the kind of expression usually reserved for chocolate cake or really good shoes,” Matt pointed out. “If that’s professional coordination, I need to completely reevaluate my understanding of workplace dynamics.”
I forced myself to look away from Declan and focus on my brother, who was watching me with the kind offond exasperation usually reserved for small children doing something adorable but slightly concerning.
“Okay, fine,” I admitted, because clearly my ability to maintain plausible deniability had died somewhere around the time Declan had made me come so hard, I’d seen stars. “Maybe there’s some... chemistry.”
“Chemistry,” Matt repeated, like I’d just announced I was considering taking up interpretive dance. “Holly, you two have been generating enough chemistry to power the Christmas lights. The question is, what are you planning to do about it?”
Before I could figure out how to answer that loaded question, Mom appeared with the kind of bright smile that meant she was about to make an announcement I probably wouldn’t like.
“Holly, sweetheart,” she said, linking her arm through mine with maternal determination, “your father and I were thinking it would be lovely to have Declan join us for dinner tonight. You know, to thank him for all his hard work, and taking over from Matt on such short notice.”
Right. Because that was definitely the only reason Mom wanted to invite Declan for a family dinner. I mentally rolled my eyes, and they mentally got stuck somewhere staring at the back of the inside of my skull.
“That’s very thoughtful,” I said carefully, “but I’m sure Declan has his own plans?—”
“Actually,” came Declan’s voice from behind me, and I turned to find him approaching with the kind of smile that suggested he’d overheard the entire conversation, “I’d love to join you for dinner. Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Winters. Uhm, Linda.”
“Wonderful!” Mom exclaimed with obvious delight that he had capitulated and called her by her given name. “Six o’clock.”
