Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
DECLAN
Public Declarations
Which was great for the festival, but terrible for my ability to maintain emotional equilibrium, especially after last night’s dinner with the Winters family had made me feel more at home than I’d felt anywhere in years.
I was standing in the town square at ten in the morning, watching volunteers set up for day two of festivities, when my phone buzzed with the kind of insistent vibration that usually meant someone in New York was about to ruin my day.
Richard.
Stepping away from the main festival area toward the relative privacy of the town hall steps, I didn’t even bother with pleasantries. “We talked about this. I said I’d give you an answer after the holidays.”
“The holidays are a luxury we can’t afford,” Richard said with the tone of someone who considered vacation time a character flaw. “I need my best associates available immediately, which means I need to know if you’re coming back or if I need to replace you.”
Replace me. The words hit like a punch to the stomach, though they shouldn’t have surprised me. Corporate law clearly wasn’t known for its patience with sabbaticals or personal reflection time.
“I understand the timeline pressure,” I said carefully, “but—”
“Declan, let me be clear,” Richard interrupted. “This isn’t a negotiation. If you’re not back in the office by January second, ready to dive back in, I’ll assume you’ve chosen to pursue other opportunities. Permanently.”
January second. Which gave me eleven days to decide between the career I’d spent years building and whatever was happening here in Everdale Falls. Eleven days to choose between professional success and personal happiness.
“I need to think about this,” I said, though what I was really thinking was that my chest felt tight and my breathing was getting shallow in the way that usually preceded a full-scale panic attack.
“You’ve had weeks to think about it,” Richard said with obvious impatience. “I need an answer by five PM today, or I start making calls to replace you. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” I managed, ending the call and immediately leaning against the town hall railing as my heart rate spiked into cardiac arrest territory.
Five PM today. Which meant I had approximately seven hours to decide whether to abandon everything I’d worked for in New York or abandon everything that was making me happy in Vermont.
Including Holly, who was currently standing behind me in the snow with a coffee tray and the kind of fake, bright smile that made my chest tighten for entirely different reasons.
“Morning,” she said cheerfully, offering me a steaming cup. “You look like you could use caffeine.”
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the coffee and trying to keep my hands from shaking in a way that would broadcast my emotional state to anyone within a fifty-foot radius.
“Everything okay?” Holly asked, studying my face with the kind of perceptive attention that suggested she’d noticed my distress. “You look a little pale.”
“Fine,” I said automatically, then realized she’d probably overheard at least part of my conversation. “Just work stuff. Nothing important.”
“Declan,” Holly said gently, setting down her coffee tray and moving closer with the kind of careful approach usually reserved for spooked animals, “if something’s wrong, you can tell me.”
If something’s wrong. The problem was that everything was wrong, or maybe everything was right, and I couldn’t figure out which was more terrifying.
“They want me back,” I said finally, the words coming out in a rush before I could stop them. “They want me back in New York by January second, or they’re replacing me.”
Holly went very still, and I watched her face cycle through several emotions—surprise, understanding, and something that might have been disappointment or fear.
“That’s... soon,” she said quietly.
“Very soon,” I agreed, trying to gauge her reaction. “Too soon, maybe.”
“Too soon for what?”
For falling completely in love with you, I thought but didn’t say. For figuring out if what’s happening between us is real or just holiday magic. For deciding if I’m brave enough to choose happiness over security.
“Too soon to make a decision that big,” I said instead, which was true but not the whole truth.
Before Holly could respond, Matt appeared with the kind of perfect timing that suggested he’d been monitoring our conversation from a distance.
“Morning, you two,” he said cheerfully, though his eyes immediately went to our faces with obvious concern. “Everything okay? You both look like someone just told you Christmas was canceled.”
“Everything’s fine,” Holly said quickly, which was becoming our standard response to people who noticed we were acting like emotional disasters.
“Right,” Matt said with obvious skepticism. “Fine. Which is why you’re both standing here looking like you’re at a funeral instead of a Christmas festival.”
Before either of us could figure out how to explain the situation without admitting that we were falling for each other while possibly living in different states, Mrs. Peterson appeared with the kind of determined energy that suggested she had festival-related emergencies that required immediate attention.
“Holly, dear,” she said breathlessly, “we have a situation with the Christmas karaoke schedule. Two of our singers called in sick, and we’re supposed to start performances in twenty minutes.”
“No problem,” Holly said, immediately shifting into crisis management mode. “We can adjust the schedule, maybe combine some of the smaller groups—”
“Actually,” Mrs. Peterson interrupted with obvious excitement, “I was thinking you and Declan could fill in. You both have lovely voices, and everyone would love to see you perform together.”
Perform together. In public. While half the town watched and the other half took pictures for the local newspaper. This was either the perfect opportunity to publicly declare our feelings for each other or the perfect opportunity for mutual humiliation.
“I don’t think—” I started.
“That sounds wonderful,” Holly said firmly, though her smile looked slightly strained. “We’d be happy to help.”
Happy was a strong word for how I felt about the prospect of public performance while having a slow-motion panic attack about my career future, but Holly was already discussing song selection with Mrs. Peterson, and Matt was watching the entire exchange with amusement.
“This should be interesting,” he said quietly to me as Holly and Mrs. Peterson finalized performance details. “Nothing like public singing to really test a relationship’s durability.”
“We don’t have a relationship,” I said automatically, though even I was getting tired of that particular denial.
“Sure you don’t,” Matt said with obvious affection. “That’s why you’re both volunteering to sing in front of the entire town while looking like you want to either kiss each other or run away screaming.”
Before I could figure out how to respond to that disturbingly accurate assessment, Holly returned with the kind of bright smile that meant she’d committed us to something that was going to require more emotional fortitude than I currently possessed.
“We’re doing ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside,’” she announced cheerfully. “In fifteen minutes. On the main stage.”
‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside.’ The most flirtatious Christmas song in existence, which we were going to perform in front of everyone we knew while I tried not to have a panic attack about my career, and she tried not to look at me like she was afraid I was going to disappear.
“Perfect,” I managed, though what I was thinking was that my day had officially entered surreal territory and was showing no signs of slowing down.
Fifteen minutes later, I was standing on the main stage in the town square, looking out at a crowd that included what appeared to be half of Everdale Falls, holding a microphone and trying to remember how to breathe normally while Holly stood beside me, looking radiant and nervous and completely beautiful.
“Don’t overthink it,” she whispered as the music started. “Just... have fun.”
Have fun. Right. Because public performance, while having an existential crisis about my entire life, was exactly the kind of situation where fun came naturally. Where were the actual shits when you needed them?
But then Holly started singing, her voice clear and warm and perfectly suited to the playful melody, and something in my chest loosened.
When my part came in, I found my voice, and suddenly we weren’t just singing a song—we were having a conversation, a flirtation, a declaration that everyone could hear but that felt completely private.
Holly moved closer during the playful back-and-forth, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and I found myself grinning as I sang the responses, caught up in the moment and the music and the way she was looking at me like I was the only person in the world.
The crowd was eating it up. I could see people taking pictures, couples swaying together, Mrs. Peterson beaming like she’d personally orchestrated our romantic destiny.
But all I could focus on was Holly, the way her voice blended with mine, the way she laughed at my dramatic delivery of certain lines, the way she looked at me during the more intimate parts of the song, like she meant every word.
When we reached the final verse, Holly stepped even closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume and see the way her cheeks were flushed from the cold and the performance.
We sang the last lines looking directly at each other, and when the music ended, there was a moment of perfect silence where we just stood there, staring at each other, while the rest of the world faded away.
Then the crowd erupted in applause and cheers, and we remembered where we were and what we’d just done in front of approximately everyone we knew.
“That was...” Holly said breathlessly as we left the stage.
“Intense,” I finished, still trying to process what had just happened.