Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
HOLLY
Reciprocation
I was standing in Declan’s parents’ living room, having just been kissed senseless in front of both sets of our parents, trying to process the fact that the man I’d been falling in love with had just offered to move to Chicago for me while I’d been planning to cancel my interview to stay in Vermont for him.
“You’d really move to Chicago?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around his declaration. “You’d give up New York, Vermont, and your family, and this community?”
“I’d give up anything for you,” Declan said simply, and the way he said it made my heart flutter like a caffeinated hummingbird. “Because none of it means anything if you’re not part of it.”
Around us, our parents were engaging in what appeared to be enthusiastic wedding planning disguised as casual conversation, but all I could focus on was Declan’s face and the realization that he’d just upended his entire life plan for me. The same way I’d been preparing to upend mine for him.
“Declan,” I said, trying to figure out how to explain the various ironies currently making my life feel like a romantic comedy written by someone with a highly developed sense of dramatic timing, “I have an interview for a great job in Chicago tomorrow. A video call.”
He blinked but didn’t say anything as he processed that.
“I’m not doing it,” I said, the words coming out in a rush of relief and certainty. “I was going to call them tomorrow morning and cancel. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to tell you that I don’t want to leave Everdale Falls. I don’t want to leave you.”
Declan stared at me like I’d just announced my intention to take up professional ice dancing or become a circus performer.
“You’re not going back to Chicago,” he repeated slowly, like he was testing the words for accuracy.
“I’m not going back to Chicago,” I confirmed. “I was going to tell you tonight that I want to stay here, with you, if you want that. And if you were going to go back to New York, I was going to tell you that I’d move there with you.”
“You were going to move to New York for me,” Declan said with obvious amazement.
“I was going to move anywhere for you,” I said, echoing his earlier declaration. “Because somewhere along the way, you stopped being my brother’s best friend and became the person who makes me want to be braver than I’ve ever been.”
The silence that followed was interrupted by what sounded suspiciously like Mom making pleased sounds from across the room, though when I looked over, she was pretending to be deeply engaged in conversation with Carol Hayes about Florida citrus fruit.
“So let me get this straight,” Declan said with growing amusement. “I was prepared to move to Chicago for you, you were prepared to move to New York for me, and neither of us actually wants to leave Vermont.”
“That’s exactly right,” I said, starting to laugh at the absurdity of our mutual romantic martyrdom. “We’re both idiots.”
“Complete idiots,” Declan agreed cheerfully. “We spent weeks agonizing over career decisions and keeping secrets from each other when we both wanted the same thing.”
“Which is?”
“To stay here,” Declan said, reaching for my hands again. “To build a life in Everdale Falls, together. To coordinate more Christmas festivals and argue about vendor booth placement and make out in inappropriate public locations.”
“Those are very important to our relationship dynamic.”
“Critical,” Declan agreed with obvious mock seriousness. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint Bernie’s romantic photography collection.”
“Or Mrs. Peterson’s betting pool,” I added.”
“Definitely can’t disappoint Mrs. Peterson,” Declan said, and then he was kissing me again, softer this time, like he was sealing a promise rather than making a desperate declaration.
When we broke apart, I noticed that our parents had abandoned all pretense of not listening to our conversation and were watching us with the kind of obvious satisfaction usually reserved for people who’d just won the lottery or successfully completed major home improvement projects.
“So,” Dad said cheerfully, “should we assume you’re both staying in Vermont permanently, or are we going to have to worry about you two running off back to exotic locations like Chicago or Manhattan?”
“Definitely staying in Vermont,” I said firmly. “Permanently. If that’s okay with everyone.”
“More than okay,” Mom said with obvious delight. “Though we’ll need to discuss living arrangements and career plans and—”
“Mom,” I interrupted gently, “maybe we could handle the practical details after we’ve had more than five minutes to process the romantic details?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Mom said, though her expression suggested she was already mentally planning engagement parties and researching wedding venues.
“Actually,” Carol Hayes said with obvious excitement, “Bill and I have been thinking about the property on King’s Walk that has been up for sale for months. We were going to buy it and flip it, but maybe… it would be perfect for a young couple just starting out.”
The casual way she said it made it clear that our parents had moved directly from hoping we’d figure out our feelings to planning our entire domestic future.
“And Holly could start her own event planning business,” Mom added enthusiastically. “Local focus, community events, maybe some destination weddings at the ski resorts.”
“She could coordinate the summer festival, too,” Carol suggested. “And the fall harvest celebration. And maybe we could add a Valentine’s Day event—”
“Mom,” Declan interrupted, “you’re planning our entire professional future along with our personal future.”
“Someone has to,” Carol said matter-of-factly. “You two have proven that you’re not very good at planning things without getting completely tangled up in unnecessary complications.”
She had a point. We had managed to turn a simple Christmas festival coordination into a romantic crisis involving potential moves to Chicago, New York, and whatever exotic location we might have suggested next if our parents hadn’t intervened.
“What about you?” I asked Declan. “Are you okay with giving up corporate law to become a small-town... what? What would you do in Everdale Falls?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Declan said with evident enthusiasm. “Small-town legal practice, maybe. Estate planning, real estate law, and helping local businesses with contracts and regulations. The kind of law that actually helps people instead of just making corporations richer.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said, and I meant it.
Declan helping local families and small businesses, being part of the community in a way that mattered—it felt exactly right.
“Plus,” he added with apparent mischief, “someone’s going to need to provide legal counsel when your event planning business inevitably takes over half of Vermont.”
“Half of Vermont seems reasonable,” I agreed solemnly.
As we sat there in his parents’ living room, surrounded by people who loved us and were obviously thrilled about our romantic revelation, I knew that this was exactly what happiness felt like.
Not the adrenaline rush of career success or the satisfaction of professional achievement, but the warm certainty of being exactly where I belonged with exactly the right person.
“So,” I said, settling back on the sofa with obvious satisfaction, “I guess this means we’re staying in Everdale Falls.”
“Together,” Declan added, like he was making sure we were both clear on the terms of our mutual life plan.
“Together,” I agreed, and the word felt like a promise and a declaration and the beginning of everything I’d been too afraid to hope for.
“Well,” Mom said, “I suppose this means we need to include three extra people for Christmas dinner. We can’t have it without the whole family.”
The whole family. It sounded… blissful.
“Should I be worried,” Declan asked quietly, “that our parents are already planning our lives more efficiently than we ever did?”
“Definitely,” I said with amusement. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. They seem to have pretty good ideas about what makes us happy.”
“Better ideas than we did,” Declan agreed. “At least they never suggested moving to Chicago.”
“Or New York,” I added.
“Though they are suggesting shared Christmas dinners and buying properties in King’s Walk,” Declan pointed out. “That’s almost as terrifying as long-distance relationships.”
“Almost,” I agreed, though what I was thinking was that shared Christmas dinners and buying houses sounded exactly like the kind of happily ever after I’d been secretly hoping for.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Declan said, turning to face me with mock seriousness.
“What?”
“We’re going to have to coordinate next year’s Christmas festival together,” he said gravely. “Officially. As a couple. With everyone watching and taking bets on when the wedding is.”
“Terrifying,” I said solemnly, though I was grinning as I said it.
“Absolutely terrifying,” Declan agreed. “Are you up for it?”
“I think I can handle coordinating Christmas festivals with you,” I said, reaching up to kiss him softly. “I might even be good at it.”
“You’ll be amazing at it,” Declan said against my lips. “We’ll be amazing at it.”
As our parents launched into enthusiastic discussion of holiday meal planning, house buying timelines, and what sounded suspiciously like preliminary wedding venue research, I knew that some love stories didn’t end with dramatic declarations or grand romantic gestures.
Some love stories ended with Christmas dinner plans and shared domestic futures and the quiet certainty that you’d found the person you wanted to coordinate festivals with for the rest of your life.
And if that person happened to be your brother’s best friend who made you laugh and challenged you to be braver and kissed you like you were the most important thing in his world, well, that was just the kind of Christmas miracle that made small-town romance stories worth believing in.
Even if those stories came with parental interference, community surveillance, and the ongoing challenge of maintaining professional dignity while falling in love in front of everyone you’d ever known.
Some challenges, I was learning, were definitely worth rising to meet.
Especially when they came with promises of shared Christmas mornings and a lifetime of inappropriate public make-out sessions that would probably keep Bernie in newspaper material for decades.
But as I sat there in Declan’s arms, listening to our parents plan our future with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for major home improvement projects, I knew that I was finally ready for all of it.
The love, the commitment, the small-town scrutiny, and yes, even the parental interference that came with building a life with someone in a place where everyone had known you since you were born and had opinions about your romantic choices.
As it turned out, I’d gladly endure every raised eyebrow and whispered comment in Everdale Falls for this—for his hand in mine, for Christmas mornings yet to come, for the quiet certainty that had settled in my chest where doubt used to live.
Everything before Declan now seemed like a first draft, like I’d been rehearsing lines for a play I didn’t know I’d been cast in.