Chapter 7
Seven
DECLAN
Kitchen Table Negotiations
“So,” I said as we stood in the community center parking lot afterward, both of us clutching our copies of the festival planning manual, “want to grab coffee and figure out what we’ve actually gotten ourselves into?”
Holly glanced at her watch. It was a delicate silver thing that looked like it might have been a college graduation gift, and then back at me with an expression that suggested she was still processing the full scope of what Mrs. Peterson had just dumped in our laps.
“Actually,” she said, “would you mind coming back to my house? Mom made lunch, and she’ll be hurt if I don’t bring you by. Plus, the kitchen table is probably better for spreading out all these papers than a coffee shop.”
The invitation was casual, practical, but there was something careful in the way she delivered it, like she was prepared for me to decline politely and suggest somewhere more neutral.
“That sounds perfect,” I said, and was rewarded with a smile that looked surprised but genuinely pleased.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting at the Winters family kitchen table. It was the same oak table where I’d eaten countless meals during high school visits with Matt, while Holly’s mother buzzed around us with the kind of determined hospitality that made declining anything impossible.
“Declan, honey, you’re too thin,” Mrs. Winters announced, setting a plate of sandwiches in front of me that could have fed a small army. “Don’t they feed you properly in New York?”
“They do, Mrs. Winters, but nothing like this,” I said, accepting what appeared to be a turkey sandwich constructed with architectural precision. “Thank you.”
“Please, call me Linda. You’re practically family.” She beamed at me like I’d just announced my intention to move back to Everdale Falls permanently and marry her daughter. “Holly, get Declan some of that good mustard from the refrigerator.”
“Mom, he can get his own mustard,” Holly muttered, but she was already getting up with the kind of automatic compliance that suggested this was a familiar dynamic.
I watched her move around the kitchen, opening cabinets, checking the refrigerator, looking perfectly at home in the space while somehow maintaining the slightly defensive posture she’d worn since we’d left the community center.
She’d changed out of her cardigan into a college sweatshirt, and the contrast between my button-down shirt and her casual comfort made me feel overdressed and vaguely intrusive, and more than a bit of an idiot.
“You know,” Linda continued, settling into the chair across from me with her own sandwich, “Holly was just telling me yesterday how nice it is to have you back in town. Weren’t you, sweetheart?”
Holly’s face went pink. “Mom, I don’t think I said exactly that.”
“Well, you should have. Declan, did you know Holly organized the entire homecoming dance committee her senior year? Managed forty volunteers and stayed under budget. She’s always been so good with details.”
“Mom,” Holly said, her voice carrying a warning note.
“And she was student council treasurer for three years running. Never lost a single receipt or missed a deadline.”
“That’s impressive,” I said, meaning it, though I could see Holly growing more mortified with each maternal compliment.
“Oh, and remember when she planned that surprise party for your father’s birthday?
” Linda was warming to her theme now, completely oblivious to Holly’s increasing discomfort.
“Coordinated with thirty people, kept it secret for six weeks, even managed to get his brother to fly in from California without him knowing.”
“Mom, please stop,” Holly said, returning to the table with mustard and with a look like she wanted to disappear through the floor.
“I’m just saying, Declan knows how capable you are. Don’t you, Declan?”
The expectant way she looked at me suggested this was some kind of test, though I wasn’t entirely sure what answer she was looking for. Holly was staring at her sandwich like it contained the secrets of the universe rather than looking at either of us.
“I do,” I said carefully. “That’s why I was glad to hear Holly would be co-chairing with me. Planning something like this requires someone who understands both the details and the big picture.”
It was a diplomatic answer, professionally complimentary without being overly personal, but it made Holly look up at me with an expression of surprise that suggested she’d been expecting something different.
“Exactly!” Linda said triumphantly. “You two are going to be wonderful together. Just wonderful.”
The way she said it carried implications that extended well beyond festival planning, and I saw Holly’s jaw tighten slightly. I got the feeling that Linda was trying to set us up.
“We should probably start looking at the actual planning materials,” Holly said, reaching for the binder with the kind of determined focus that suggested she was eager to redirect the conversation.
“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll leave you two to your work.” Linda gathered her plate with obvious reluctance. “But if you need anything, more sandwiches, coffee, anything at all, just call.”
Once her mother had bustled out of the kitchen, Holly let out a long breath and rubbed her temples.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said without looking at me. “Mom gets enthusiastic about visitors.”
“She’s being nice,” I said, though I’d definitely noticed the undercurrent of matchmaking in Linda’s commentary.
“She’s being obvious.” Holly opened the festival binder and started flipping through pages with more force than necessary. “She thinks having you here will somehow fix whatever’s wrong with my life.”
The bitter edge in her voice made something tighten in my chest. “There’s nothing wrong with your life, Holly.”
“I’m twenty-eight years old, living in my childhood bedroom after getting fired from my dream job while in the middle of being evicted and cleaned out by my fucking ex,” she snapped, but then she looked up at me, her expression a mixture of defiance and vulnerability.
“I think most people would consider that something wrong.”
“I think most people would consider that a temporary setback, not a character flaw.” I was careful not to react to the information dump.
It sounded rough. No wonder Matt was so determined about this festival planning.
Holly had been going through some real shit, and all I was doing was thinking inappropriate thoughts about her bouncing up and down on my cock, those luscious tits in my face, those nipples so bitable…
She stared at me for a moment, like she was trying to determine whether I was being genuine or just politely kind. Then she turned back to the binder with renewed focus.
“Anyway,” she said, “none of that is your problem. We should figure out what we’re actually supposed to be doing here.”
I let her change the subject, though I filed away her defensive response for future consideration.
Clearly, Holly’s confidence had taken a big hit from her situation.
So I did what she wanted me to do. We worked through Mrs. Peterson’s materials, and I was struck by how quickly Holly transformed once she had something concrete to focus on.
The defensive posture melted away, replaced by a kind of organized competence that was quite sexy.
She made lists, asked questions, and cross-referenced vendor information with budget requirements.
“Okay,” she said, pushing a legal pad covered in neat handwriting toward me, “I think I’ve got the basic structure figured out.
Three main areas—vendor booths, entertainment stage, and family activities.
We need permits for all of them, plus coordination with the fire department for the bonfire and insurance verification for the petting zoo. ”
I studied her notes, impressed by how she’d managed to organize Mrs. Peterson’s chaotic information into something logical and actionable.
“This is really good,” I said. “You’ve thought of things I completely missed.”
“Like what?”
“Bathroom facilities. Trash collection. Parking overflow.” I gestured at her list. “All the unglamorous details that make the difference between a successful event and a disaster.”
Holly looked pleased but tried to hide it. “That’s just basic event planning.”
“Basic event planning that a lot of people forget about until it’s too late.”
She smiled, and we divided responsibilities, but that’s when we hit our first real disagreement.
“I think we should stick with the traditional vendor lineup,” Holly said, consulting a printed list. “Same families who’ve participated for the last ten years, same booth arrangements. People expect certain things at the Christmas festival.”
I frowned at the list, noting several vendors whose products seemed outdated or overpriced. “But what about adding some variety? Maybe reach out to some of the newer businesses in town, give people more options?”
“Change for the sake of change isn’t always better,” Holly said, and there was something defensive in her tone. “These vendors are reliable. They show up, they follow the rules, and people look forward to seeing them every year.”
“I’m not suggesting we eliminate anyone,” I said carefully. “Just maybe expand the options. Add a few new choices to the mix.”
“New choices that might not understand how things work here.” Holly’s voice had cooled noticeably. “This festival is a community tradition.”
The implied criticism stung more than it should have. “I understand that. I’m just thinking about ways to make it even better.”
“Better according to whom? The people who live here and love it the way it is, or someone who’s been away for ten years and thinks he can improve everything in a couple of weeks?”
The words hung between us, sharp and loaded with more tension than vendor selection should have warranted. Holly’s face went red the moment she said it, like she hadn’t meant to be quite that blunt, but she didn’t take it back.