Chapter 30
Thirty
HOLLY
Truth Telling
Day two of the festival was a roaring success, and it was winding down with the kind of magical evening atmosphere that made small-town Christmas celebrations feel perfect.
The vendor booths were twinkling with fairy lights, the hot chocolate station was doing steady business, and couples were wandering through the snow-dusted town square with the kind of dreamy expressions that suggested the holiday spirit was working its romantic magic on everyone.
Everyone except me, apparently, because I was currently hiding behind the cookie decorating station, stress-eating a gingerbread man that some small child had decorated to look like it was screaming, while trying to avoid thinking about the video interview I had scheduled for tomorrow morning at 9 AM with Hartwell & Associates in Chicago.
The same Chicago that was approximately eight hundred miles away from Declan, who was currently helping Mrs. Peterson pack up the caroling supplies and looking unfairly hot in the glow of the Christmas lights.
The same Declan who’d spent the afternoon making me question every life decision I’d ever made, especially after our impromptu storage room encounter that had left me wondering if it was possible to die from sexual neediness and emotional confusion simultaneously.
“You know,” came Matt’s voice from behind me, “most people eat cookies because they taste good, not because they’re having existential crises.”
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?”
The question hung between us like a challenge, and I realized I’d been avoiding asking myself that exact question for weeks.
“I thought I did,” I said slowly. “Before. Before Declan, before all this, before I remembered what it felt like to be part of a community instead of just surviving in one.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know,” I admitted. “The job is everything I trained for. Big city, high-profile clients, the kind of career that would make my college professors proud and my bank account happy.”
“But?”
“But it’s not here,” I said, the words coming out in a rush. “It’s not this town, or these people, or this life where I know my neighbors and coordinate Christmas festivals and fall asleep listening to actual silence instead of sirens.”
“And Declan isn’t there,” Matt added gently.
“And Declan isn’t there,” I agreed, feeling my eyes fill with tears that had been threatening all day.
“God, Matt, what if I’m falling in love with him?
What if this isn’t just holiday romance or small-town nostalgia?
What if it’s real, and I’m about to screw it up by chasing a job I’m not even sure I want anymore? ”
Matt handed me a napkin from the cookie station, apparently prepared for the emotional breakdown that had been building all evening.
“Have you considered,” he said carefully, “that maybe the fact that you’re questioning the job means you already know what you want?”
“But what if I’m wrong?” I said, dabbing at my eyes and probably ruining whatever was left of my makeup.
“What if I turn down Chicago and then things don’t work out with Declan?
Or he goes back to New York, which is a very real probability?
What if I’m giving up my career for a Christmas romance that doesn’t survive past New Year’s? ”
“What if you take the job and spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you’d been brave enough to stay?” Matt countered. “What if you’re giving up love for a career that doesn’t make you happy?”
Love. The word hit me harder than it should have, probably because it was exactly what I’d been trying not to think about.
“I don’t know if it’s love,” I said weakly.
“Holly,” Matt said, “you are considering staying instead of going back to Chicago because of him.”
Okay, he had a point.
“This is a disaster,” I mumbled into my palms.
“This is love,” Matt corrected gently. “Messy, complicated, public love in a small town where everyone’s invested in your happiness. Which, for the record, is not a disaster. It’s actually pretty amazing.”
I looked up at him, and he was smiling with the kind of fond expression that suggested he was genuinely happy for me despite my obvious emotional chaos.
“But what about Chicago?” I asked. “The interview is tomorrow. I can’t just not show up.”
“You could,” Matt pointed out. “People cancel interviews all the time.”
“But what if—”
“Holly,” Matt interrupted firmly, “stop thinking about what-ifs and start thinking about what you actually want. Not what you think you should want, or what would look good on your resume, or what would make other people proud. What do you want?”
What did I want? The question should have been simple, but it felt enormous.
I wanted to wake up in Everdale Falls and know that I belonged here. I wanted to plan more festivals, coordinate more community events, and be part of something that mattered to people I cared about. I wanted to build a life that felt real instead of just professionally successful.
And I wanted Declan. I wanted him to stay in Vermont, and I wanted to find out if what was happening between us could survive past the holidays and turn into something permanent and wonderful.
“I want to stay,” I said quietly, the words feeling both terrifying and exactly right. “I want to build a life here, with him, if he wants that too.”
“Then stay,” Matt said simply. “Cancel the interview, tell Declan how you feel, and stop letting fear make your decisions for you.”
“But what if—”
“Holly,” Matt snapped with exasperation, “you’re twenty-eight years old, you’re brilliant, and you’re finally in a place where you’re happy. Stop sabotaging yourself with hypothetical disasters and start trusting that you deserve good things.”
Before I could figure out how to respond to that surprisingly wise piece of brotherly advice, Declan appeared through the snow, looking concerned and slightly out of breath.
“Holly,” he said, approaching our bench with obvious worry, “Bernie said you looked upset. Is everything okay?”
I looked up at him and realized that Matt was right. I was tired of letting fear make my decisions.
“Actually,” I said, standing up and brushing cookie crumbs off my coat, “I need to tell you something. But maybe after the festival is over? When we can talk privately?”
Declan’s expression shifted to something that might have been relief mixed with anxiety, like he’d been waiting for this conversation but wasn’t sure he was ready for it.
“Okay,” he said carefully. “Should I be worried?”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But hopefully not for the reasons you think.”
“That’s either very reassuring or completely terrifying,” Declan said with a smile that suggested he was choosing to find humor in the ambiguity.
“Definitely terrifying,” Matt added helpfully. “But in a good way. Probably.”
As the three of us stood there in the snow, surrounded by the magical chaos of a small-town Christmas festival, I realized that tomorrow wasn’t just about a job interview I was planning to cancel.
Tomorrow was about being brave enough to choose the life I actually wanted instead of the life I thought I was supposed to want.
And if I was very lucky, that life might include a man who sang Christmas duets with me and made me believe in happy endings.
Even if those happy endings required more courage than I’d thought I possessed.
But as Matt had pointed out, I was tired of letting fear make my decisions. It was time to start making choices based on what would make me happy instead of what would make me safe.
Even if happy was significantly more terrifying than safe, and even if it meant having the most important conversation of my life with someone whose answer could change everything.
Some truths were worth the risk, especially when they came with the possibility of Christmas miracles and small-town love stories that might just last longer than the holidays.