I turned to find my brother watching me with the kind of concerned expression usually reserved for people who were exhibiting concerning behavior at family gatherings.
“I’m not having an existential crisis,” I said, taking another bite of the screaming gingerbread man. “I’m just... evaluating cookie decoration quality. For feedback purposes.”
“Right,” Matt said, settling beside me on the bench. “Feedback evaluation. That’s why you’ve been stress-eating baked goods and watching Declan like you’re memorizing him for a test.”
“I have not been watching Declan,” I protested, though even as I said it, my eyes drifted back to where he was helping load caroling equipment into Bernie’s truck. “I’ve been observing festival coordination efficiency.”
“Holly,” Matt said gently, “you’ve been watching Declan for the past twenty minutes while eating what appears to be an entire gingerbread village. That’s either dedication to quality control or a nervous breakdown disguised as holiday spirit.”
I looked down at the paper plate in front of me and realized he was right. I had somehow consumed what looked like the population of a small gingerbread town, including several houses and what might have been a gingerbread dog.
“Okay, fine,” I admitted. “Maybe I’m a little stressed.”
“A little stressed,” Matt repeated with a snicker. “Holly, you look like someone who’s been told that Christmas is canceled,and Santa’s been outsourced to the North Pole’s more efficient competitor.”
“That’s... actually a pretty accurate description,” I said, which was probably more honesty than I’d intended to share.
Matt studied my face with the kind of focused attention that suggested he was about to deploy his superpower for detecting family secrets.
“What’s going on?” he asked seriously. “And don’t tell me it’s festival logistics, because I’ve seen you coordinate events while dealing with actual emergencies. This is something else.”
Something else. Like the fact that I had a job interview tomorrow that could change my entire life, and I hadn’t told anyone because I was terrified of what it might mean for whatever was happening between Declan and me.
“It’s complicated,” I said, which was my standard response when I didn’t want to explain things that were actually straightforward but emotionally terrifying.
“Complicated how?” Matt pressed. “Complicated like ‘I’m falling for my brother’s best friend and don’t know how to handle it’ complicated, or complicated like ‘I’m keeping a secret that could affect my relationship’ complicated?”
I stared at him in horror.
“Holly, I know you,” Matt said with obvious affection. “You’re about as subtle as a Christmas parade when you’re hiding something. Plus, you’ve been checking your phone obsessively, avoiding certain conversation topics, and making the kind of vague comments about ‘future plans’ that usually mean you’ve got something specific lined up that you don’t want to talk about.”
Damn. My brother’s powers of observation were becoming genuinely concerning.
“It’s not what you think,” I said weakly, though I wasn’t entirely sure what he thought, so that might not have been accurate.
“What I think,” Matt said carefully, “is that you’ve got a job opportunity somewhere that isn’t Everdale Falls, and you’re trying to figure out how to handle it because you’ve fallen in love with my best friend.”
The accuracy of his assessment hit me like a snowball to the face, and I felt my carefully maintained emotional composure crumble completely.
“Chicago,” I said, the word coming out like a confession. “Hartwell & Associates. Start-up PR firm that is taking the business by storm. Interview tomorrow morning.”
Matt went very still, and I watched his expression cycle through surprise, understanding, and what might have been frustration.
“Chicago,” he repeated slowly.
“Where I live,” I barked out, but then wondered if that was a stretch. I had no home there anymore. I was thrown out of it for being stupid and broke.
“When did this happen?”
“The interview request came in a few days,” I admitted.
“Have you told Declan?”
“No,” I said quickly. “And I’m not going to, because it’s just an interview. It doesn’t mean anything. I probably won’t even get the job.”
Matt looked at me with the kind of expression that suggested he was about to deliver some uncomfortable truths about my tendency toward self-deception.
“Holly,” he said gently, “do you want the job?”
