Chapter 28 #2
“So, Declan,” Dad said, passing the roasted vegetables with the kind of casual tone that suggested he was about to launch into subtle interrogation mode, “how are you finding small-town life after all those years in New York?”
“Refreshing,” Declan said, accepting the vegetables and somehow managing to make the simple gesture look elegant. “There’s something to be said for knowing your neighbors and being part of a real community.”
“Very different from city living,” Mom observed, refilling his wine glass with obvious satisfaction. “Much more... personal.”
Personal. The way she said it made it clear she wasn’t just talking about community dynamics.
“It is,” Declan agreed, his eyes meeting mine across the table for a moment that made my stomach flip. “There’s a warmth here that you don’t find in bigger cities, isn’t that right, Holly?”
I nodded dumbly, like he’d included me just to be polite.
“Warmth is important,” Dad said sagely, like he was dispensing relationship wisdom instead of making small talk about geographic preferences. “Especially during the winter months.”
I kicked Matt under the table as he started to snicker, but he just grinned at me.
“The festival coordination has been going so well,” Mom continued, clearly determined to steer the conversation toward romantic territory. “You two work together beautifully.”
“We do make a good team,” Declan said, and the way he looked at me when he said it made me wonder if he was talking about more than festival logistics.
“The best teams are built on trust and understanding,” Dad added, apparently joining Mom’s subtle matchmaking campaign.
“Being able to anticipate each other’s needs, communicate without words. ..”
“Like you and Mom,” I said quickly, hoping to redirect their romantic commentary away from Declan and me. “You two have always been a great team.”
“Forty-three years of marriage,” Mom said proudly, reaching over to squeeze Dad’s hand. “Built on friendship, mutual respect, and really excellent communication.”
“And Mom’s pot roast,” Matt added helpfully. “Dad’s been in love with that pot roast since 1982.”
“The pot roast doesn’t hurt,” Dad agreed with a grin. “But it’s really about finding someone who makes you want to be better than you are by yourself.”
Someone who makes you want to be better than you are by yourself. I snuck a glance at Declan, who was listening to my father with the kind of focused attention that suggested he was genuinely interested in relationship advice from people who’d been successfully married since before we were born.
“That’s beautiful, Mr. Winters,” Declan said quietly. “You’re lucky to have found that.”
“We are,” Dad agreed. “But luck is just opportunity meeting preparation. The real work is recognizing it when it happens and being brave enough to trust it. And call me Stan.”
Dad’s words were hitting me harder than they should have, probably because trust was exactly what I was struggling with when it came to my feelings for Declan.
“Speaking of opportunities,” Matt said, turning to me with the kind of innocent expression that immediately put me on alert, “how are things going with your career planning, Holly? Any interesting developments on the job front? You returning to Chicago, or what?”
My heart stopped.
Literally stopped beating for what felt like several seconds as I processed the fact that my brother had just steered the conversation directly toward the Chicago interview that I’d been desperately trying to avoid thinking about.
“Nothing concrete,” I said quickly, hoping my voice sounded more casual than I felt. “You know how it is—lots of applications out there, waiting to hear back from places.”
Lies! All lies!
“That’s tough,” Declan said with genuine sympathy, which made me feel even worse. “The waiting is always the hardest part.”
If only he knew that the waiting wasn’t the hardest part. The hardest part was sitting across from him at my parents’ dinner table, listening to my father talk about being brave enough to trust love, while I harbored a secret that could change everything between us.
“Something will come up,” Mom said confidently. “Holly’s too talented to stay unemployed for long.”
“Absolutely,” Declan agreed, and the pride in his voice made my chest tight with guilt. “Anyone would be lucky to have her.”
Including, apparently, Hartwell & Associates in Chicago, who were expecting me for a video interview in less time than I’d like.
“Well,” Dad said, raising his wine glass with obvious satisfaction, “here’s to new opportunities, good friends, and excellent festival coordination.”
“To new opportunities,” everyone echoed, though as I sipped my wine and tried to smile like someone who wasn’t harboring major secrets, I couldn’t help wondering if the new opportunities I was pursuing were going to destroy the best thing that had happened to me in years.
Matt was watching me with the kind of focused attention that suggested he’d noticed my discomfort, and I had the sinking feeling that my brother’s romantic surveillance was about to extend into secret-keeping detection.
Some family dinners were definitely more complicated than others, especially when they involved hot men who made you reconsider all your life plans and brothers who were too perceptive for anyone’s good.
But as I looked around the table at my family—Dad telling an embarrassing story about Matt’s high school dating disasters, Mom beaming at Declan like he was already family and she was preparing to tell him to call her ‘Mom’, Matt teasing everyone with obvious affection—I realized that this was exactly the kind of warmth Declan had been talking about.
The kind of warmth that made Chicago feel very far away, and very cold, and very much like something I might not want after all.