Chapter 13
Thirteen
DECLAN
Fixing More Than Lights
The community center's electrical system had apparently been installed sometime during the Coolidge administration, which explained why half the outlets sparked ominously when we plugged in the Christmas lights, and why the other half seemed to have given up on conducting electricity entirely.
"This is a fire hazard," I said, staring at an outlet that had just produced what I was pretty sure was actual smoke. "We can't have three hundred people in here with wiring that's older than most of the attendees."
"It's not that bad," Holly said, though she was eyeing the suspicious outlet with the same concern I was feeling. "Mr. Bennett said the wiring was updated in the eighties."
"The eighteen-eighties?"
"Very funny." She crouched down to examine the outlet more closely, and I tried not to notice how her fitted jeans hugged her curves perfectly, or how her soft purple sweater had ridden up slightly to reveal a tantalizing strip of skin at her lower back.
This was exactly the kind of awareness that had been making festival planning significantly more complicated than Mrs. Peterson's manual had prepared me for.
"I think the problem is we're overloading the circuits," Holly continued, completely oblivious to my internal struggle with professional focus. "Too many light strings running through outlets that were designed for basic electrical needs."
She stood up and brushed dust off her hands, the movement unconsciously graceful in a way that made something tighten in my chest. Holly had always been pretty, but watching her move through space now—confident, competent, completely comfortable in her own skin—was mesmerizing in a way that teenage me would never have imagined.
"So what's the solution?" I asked, forcing myself to focus on electrical problems rather than the way her sweater clung to her body.
"We need to redistribute the electrical load," she said, pulling out her planning notebook and flipping to a page covered with what appeared to be a hand-drawn electrical diagram.
"If we run extension cords from multiple outlets instead of daisy-chaining everything through the same circuit, we should be able to handle the full lighting display without burning down the building. "
I stared at her makeshift electrical schematic, impressed despite myself. "Holly, did you just design a power distribution system?"
"It's not rocket science," she said, but there was a pleased flush to her cheeks that suggested she was proud of her problem-solving. "I just paid attention during the setup walkthrough and figured out where the separate circuits probably run."
"That's..." I paused, trying to find words that wouldn't sound condescending. "That's actually brilliant. And probably exactly what a professional electrician would recommend."
"Probably?" Holly raised an eyebrow. "Are you questioning my amateur electrical engineering skills?"
"I wouldn't dare," I said solemnly. "I'm too impressed by your amateur electrical engineering skills to question them."
Her laugh was bright and genuine, and the sound of it made me want to find more ways to make her laugh like that. Which was problematic, given that I was supposed to be maintaining professional boundaries rather than looking for excuses to make Holly Winters smile.
"Okay," she said, consulting her diagram again, "if we're going to do this properly, we'll need to crawl around behind all the decorations to run extension cords to different outlets. It's going to be cramped and probably dusty and definitely not glamorous."
"Good thing I wore my crawling-around-behind-Christmas-decorations outfit," I said, gesturing at my jeans and sweater.
"Is that what that is?" Holly looked me up and down with mock seriousness. "I thought it was your trying-to-look-casual-while-secretly-being-a-fancy-lawyer outfit."
"That too," I admitted. "Multi-purpose clothing. Very practical."
"Very lawyer-like," Holly said with a grin. "Always prepared for multiple scenarios."
We got to work crawling around behind vendor booths and decoration displays, running extension cords according to Holly's electrical diagram.
It was exactly as cramped and dusty as she'd predicted, but it was also oddly intimate to be working together in tight spaces, passing equipment back and forth, occasionally bumping into each other in ways that made my pulse spike.
"Can you hand me that extension cord?" Holly asked from somewhere behind the artificial Christmas tree that was serving as the festival's centerpiece.
I crawled over to where she was kneeling, threading electrical cords through the tree's base, and found myself close enough to smell her shampoo. It was something floral that made me want to lean closer instead of handing over the electrical equipment.
"Here," I said, passing her the cord, and our fingers brushed in the exchange. The contact was brief, innocent, but it sent an uncomfortable jolt of awareness through me that had nothing to do with electrical currents.
Holly glanced up at me, and for a moment we were just looking at each other in the cramped space behind the Christmas tree, surrounded by extension cords and the smell of artificial pine needles.
Her lips were slightly parted, and there was something in her expression that suggested she was feeling the same electric tension I was.
"Holly," I said quietly, and I wasn't entirely sure what I was planning to say next.
"Yeah?" she whispered, and the single word sounded breathless.
"I think..." I started, then stopped, because what I was thinking was that I wanted to kiss her again. That I'd been thinking about kissing her for days. That working this closely with her was making it increasingly difficult to remember why professional boundaries were important.
But professional boundaries were important.
Holly was dealing with her own life crisis, rebuilding after professional and personal devastation.
I was on sabbatical, trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my future.
We were co-chairing a community festival that mattered to both of us and to the entire town.
And she was Matt's sister.
"This is getting complicated," I said finally, settling back on my heels to put some distance between us.
Holly blinked, and I watched her process the abrupt shift from whatever moment we'd been having to my suddenly practical statement.
"What do you mean?" she asked carefully.
"I mean..." I gestured vaguely at the space between us, trying to find words for the growing attraction that was making every interaction feel charged with possibility. "This. Us. Working together."
"Are you saying I'm distracting you from electrical problem-solving?" Holly asked, and there was something light in her tone that didn't quite hide the uncertainty underneath.
"I'm saying you're distracting me from everything," I admitted, probably more honestly than was wise. "And that's complicated."
Holly was quiet for a moment, still kneeling among the extension cords, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Complicated how?" she asked finally.
"Complicated because you're Matt's sister, and he's been my best friend since we were twelve," I said. "Complicated because you're rebuilding your life right now, and I don't know if I should be part of that rebuilding or if I'd just be another complication you don't need."
"And complicated because you're on sabbatical from your real life in New York," Holly added quietly. "And you don't know if you're staying or going back."
The fact that she'd identified the same obstacles I was worried about should have been reassuring. Instead, it made something sink in my chest, because it meant she was thinking about all the reasons this couldn't work rather than all the reasons it could.
"Exactly," I said. "So maybe we should focus on the festival and worry about everything else later."
"Focus on the festival," Holly repeated, and there was something careful in the way she said it. "Right. Professional boundaries and all that."
"Professional boundaries," I agreed, though the words felt ridiculous when we were kneeling two feet apart in a space barely large enough for both of us.
"Good plan," Holly said, turning back to the extension cords with renewed focus. "Very mature and sensible."
"I'm known for my maturity and sensibility," I said, watching her work and trying not to notice how the movement made her sweater ride up in ways that were definitely not mature or sensible to be thinking about as my cock grew harder.
"Right up until you're making poster board signs and hanging them in your bedroom window," Holly pointed out without looking up from the electrical work.
"That was adaptive communication," I said with dignity. "Very professional."
"That was twelve-year-old behavior," Holly corrected, but she was smiling as she said it. "Though effective twelve-year-old behavior."
"The best kind."
We finished the electrical work in relative silence, testing each circuit and confirming that Holly's power distribution plan worked perfectly.
The Christmas lights blazed without sparking, the outlets remained cool, and the community center looked appropriately festive without resembling a fire hazard.
"There," Holly said with satisfaction, dusting off her hands as we surveyed our work. "Problem solved through superior electrical engineering and mature, professional collaboration."
"The very best kind of collaboration," I agreed, though I was acutely aware that the professional part of our collaboration felt increasingly forced.
As we gathered our tools and prepared to leave, I found myself watching Holly move around the space with easy confidence, straightening decorations and making final adjustments to the lighting display.
She was beautiful, obviously, but it was more than that.
There was something about her competence, her creative problem-solving, the way she approached challenges with both practical thinking and genuine care, that was infinitely more attractive than simple physical appeal.
Which was exactly why maintaining professional boundaries was going to be so difficult.
"Holly," I said as we reached the community center exit.
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth, I think you're amazing at this," I said, gesturing back at the festival setup. "Not just the electrical problem-solving, though that was impressive. All of it. You're going to make this festival exactly what the community wants it to be."
The smile that spread across her face was radiant, and for a moment, I forgot about professional boundaries entirely.
"Thank you," she said softly. "That... means a lot."
"Any time."
As we walked to our cars in the December evening air, I realized that professional boundaries were probably the most theoretical concept I'd ever tried to maintain.
Because watching Holly Winters solve problems and create something meaningful for people she cared about wasn't just professionally impressive.
It was making me fall for her in ways that had nothing to do with nostalgia or proximity or holiday romance fantasies, and everything to do with who she was as a person.
Which was definitely going to complicate our mature, sensible, professional collaboration in ways that Mrs. Peterson's planning manual had not prepared me for.
Some electrical problems, apparently, were easier to fix than others.