Chapter 11
Eleven
DECLAN
Storage Room Confessions
Having abandoned the garlands while we waited for the new ladder, we decided to start at the bottom and work our way up.
That led us to the Everdale Falls Community Center’s storage room, which had definitely not been designed with two adults in mind.
Or adequate lighting. Or, apparently, any organizational system that would allow a person to locate basic festival supplies without conducting an archaeological expedition through fifteen years of accumulated holiday decorations.
“The extra extension cords have to be in here somewhere,” Holly said, squeezing past me in the narrow space between metal shelving units loaded with what appeared to be every Christmas decoration the town had ever purchased.
“Mrs. Peterson specifically said she put them on the left side, behind the artificial wreaths.”
“Define ‘left side,’” I said, watching Holly maneuver around a precariously stacked tower of boxes labeled things like Misc. Garland and Santa Hats - Various Sizes. “Because from where I’m standing, the entire room appears to be one continuous wall of holiday storage.”
“The left side from the door,” Holly explained, reaching up to examine the contents of a high shelf. “Which would be... this side, I think.”
The movement stretched her fitted blue sweater across her breasts in a way that made it difficult to focus on extension cord logistics. She was beautiful, confident, completely comfortable in her own skin, and that was infinitely more attractive than any teenage memory I’d been harboring.
“Found them!” she announced triumphantly, standing on her tiptoes to reach a box marked Electrical - Festival Supplies. “Can you grab this? It’s just out of my reach.”
I moved behind her to reach the box she was indicating, which meant pressing close enough to feel the warmth from her body and catch the scent of her shampoo—something floral and clean that made me want to lean closer rather than focus on festival logistics.
“This one?” I asked, my voice slightly rougher than it should have been, reaching around her to grasp the box.
“That’s the one,” Holly said, but she didn’t step away when I lowered the box, and suddenly we were standing in the narrow space between storage shelves with barely an inch separating us.
The storage room was cramped and poorly lit, and filled with the musty smell of decorations that had been packed away for eleven months. It should have been the least romantic setting imaginable.
Instead, with Holly looking up at me with those unusual green eyes and her lips slightly parted like she was about to say something important, it felt like the most intimate space I’d ever occupied.
“Holly,” I said quietly, setting the box of extension cords on a nearby shelf without breaking eye contact.
“Yes?” she whispered, and the single word was breathless in a way that suggested she was as aware as I was of the charged atmosphere in the cramped storage space.
“We should probably get back to the setup,” I said, but I didn’t move away from her. If anything, I found myself leaning slightly closer, drawn by the way she was looking at me like she was having the same internal struggle between professional responsibility and something much more personal.
“We should,” she agreed, but she didn’t move either.
“Definitely,” I said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear that had escaped from her ponytail. The gesture was gentle, careful, but the moment my fingers brushed her cheek, Holly’s breath caught in a way that made my pulse spike.
“Declan,” she said softly, and there was something vulnerable in her voice that made me forget about extension cords and festival logistics entirely.
“Tell me to stop,” I said, my hand still cradled against her cheek, thumb tracing the soft curve of her jawline.
Holly’s eyes searched my face for a long moment, and I could see her processing the same conflict I was feeling. The knowledge that this would complicate everything, weighed against the undeniable pull between us that had been building since that almost-kiss while garland hanging.
“I should,” she said finally. “This is probably a terrible idea.”
“Probably,” I agreed, but my other hand had somehow found its way to her waist, settling against the soft curve of her hip through her sweater.
“We’re supposed to be working together,” Holly continued, but her hands had come up to rest against my chest, fingers curling slightly into the soft wool of my sweater.
“We are working together,” I said, taking another small step closer until her back was pressed gently against the storage shelves. “Very... collaborative.”
Holly laughed, a soft sound that was equal parts amusement and nervous energy. “Is that what we’re calling this?”
“What would you prefer?” I asked, letting my hand slide from her cheek to rest at the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in the soft hair at the base of her ponytail. “Strategic festival planning? Hands-on logistics management?”
“How about completely losing our professional boundaries in a storage closet?” Holly suggested, but she was smiling as she said it, and her hands had flattened against my chest in a way that suggested she wasn’t exactly protesting our current situation.
“That’s remarkably accurate,” I admitted, enjoying the way her smile lit up her entire face. “Though I prefer to think of it as discovering unexpected synergies in our working relationship.”
“Unexpected synergies,” Holly repeated, and there was something breathless about the way she said it that made me want to kiss her more than I wanted to continue our ridiculous conversation about euphemisms.
“Holly,” I said again, more seriously this time, because I needed her to understand that this wasn’t just physical attraction or convenience or some kind of holiday romance fantasy. “I need you to know that this—whatever this is—it’s not casual for me.”
Something shifted in her expression, surprise and something that might have been relief crossing her features.
“It’s not casual for me either,” she said quietly. “Which is why this is probably such a terrible idea.”
“Why terrible?” I asked, genuinely curious about her reasoning.
“Because I’m in a bad place, relationship-wise, and you will be leaving at some point.”
The admission was honest and vulnerable, and it made me want to pull her closer and promise her things I wasn’t sure I was ready to promise. Instead, I settled for sliding my hand from her waist to the small of her back, drawing her closer against me.
“What if it’s not temporary?” I asked, the words coming out before I’d fully thought them through.
Holly’s eyes widened. “Declan...”
“I’m serious,” I said, surprised by how much I meant it. “Holly, I know this is fast, and I know the timing is complicated, but I haven’t felt like this about anyone in... possibly ever.”
“Like what?” she asked softly.
“Like I want to take you to dinner somewhere nice and argue with you about event planning strategies just to watch you get animated about something you care about. Like I want to wake up next to you and bring you coffee exactly the way you like it. Like I don’t want to go back to New York.”
Holly stared at me for a long moment, and I could see her processing what I’d just said.
“That’s...” she started, then stopped, shaking her head slightly. “Declan, that sounds like a relationship. A real one.”
“It does,” I agreed. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”
Instead of answering immediately, Holly reached up and kissed me.
It was soft at first, tentative, like she was testing the waters of this decision we were making. But when I responded, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss, she melted against me with a soft sigh that made every rational thought in my head disappear.
Holly was soft and warm and perfect in my arms and kissing her felt like something I’d been waiting to do without realizing it. She tasted like the peppermint tea she’d been drinking, and when her hands fisted in my sweater and pulled me closer, I thought I might actually lose my mind.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard, and Holly’s cheeks were flushed in the most beautiful way.
“So,” I said, resting my forehead against hers, “I’m taking that as a yes to the relationship question?”
Her eyes clouded over, and she stepped back. My heart plummeted. I’d moved too soon, and now she was pulling away.
“We should probably get back,” she murmured.
“Probably,” I agreed, but I made no move to step away from her. “Though I’m significantly less interested in extension cord management than I was twenty minutes ago.”
“Focus, Hayes,” Holly said with mock sternness, somehow pushing aside what we just shared to… move on. “We have a festival to coordinate.”
“Right. Festival coordination.” I picked up the box of extension cords and tried not to let my hurt feelings show. She was clearly not ready, so I had to wait.
“With significant romantic subplot development,” Holly added, adjusting her ponytail and smoothing her sweater.
Her comment made me pause and rethink everything I had thought was going on.
“I prefer to think of it as enhanced partnership dynamics,” I said, following her toward the storage room door.
“You really are a lawyer,” Holly said with amusement. “Everything has to be a euphemism.”
“Not everything,” I said, catching her hand before she could open the door. “Holly?”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said. About this not being casual. When, if, you’re ready.”
She simply nodded as we emerged from the storage room to find Mr. Bennett waiting with a bigger pair of step ladders.