Chapter 16
Sixteen
HOLLY
Near Misses and Racing Hearts
The community center’s heating system had apparently chosen the most dramatically inconvenient moment possible to stage its rebellion.
With snow starting to fall outside and the temperature dropping ever closer toward single digits, walking into the building felt like entering a very festively decorated refrigerator.
“This is not good,” I said, my breath visible in the air as I surveyed the silent heating vents. “Three hundred people cannot celebrate Christmas in a building that’s colder than the outdoors.”
“It’s definitely problematic,” Declan agreed, already pulling out his phone to call someone who presumably knew more about heating systems than we did. “Let me see if I can reach Rhett Blake—he does HVAC work.”
While Declan made calls, I did a walkthrough of the building, testing vents and checking thermostats, trying to diagnose the problem with my extremely limited knowledge of heating systems. The decorations looked beautiful against the snowy backdrop visible through the windows, but Christmas lights and garland weren’t going to keep anyone warm if we couldn’t get the heat working.
“Bad news,” Declan said when I returned to the main room. “Rhett’s already left for his daughter’s wedding, and the other HVAC guy in town is dealing with emergency calls from the storm. We’re on our own until morning.”
“On our own to do what, exactly?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer. “Neither of us is qualified to repair heating systems.”
“No, but we can troubleshoot basic problems,” Declan said with the kind of determined optimism that suggested he was about to volunteer us for another project that would require crawling around in cramped spaces. “Clogged filters, tripped breakers, that kind of thing.”
“Right,” I said, trying not to think about how our last troubleshooting session had ended with us agreeing to professional boundaries while standing uncomfortably close in the storage room. “Basic heating system diagnosis. How hard could it be?”
“Famous last words,” Declan said with a grin that made my stomach flutter in ways that were definitely not designed for freezing temperatures.
The heating system was located in the basement, accessible through a narrow door near the kitchen that led to stairs steep enough to qualify as a mild mountaineering experience.
The basement itself was cramped, dimly lit, and filled with the kind of mechanical equipment that looked intimidating even when it was working properly.
“Okay,” Declan said, consulting something on his phone that was apparently a heating system troubleshooting guide. “First step is checking the circuit breakers to make sure nothing’s tripped.”
The electrical panel was mounted on the wall in a corner that required both of us to squeeze into a space clearly designed for one person.
I was acutely aware of Declan behind me as I examined the rows of switches, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cold basement air.
“Anything look obviously wrong?” he asked, leaning over my shoulder to see the panel better.
“They all look the same to me,” I admitted, trying to ignore how his proximity was making my pussy a bit damp. “None of them are pointing in different directions or have little ‘I’m broken’ signs.”
“Very technical assessment,” Declan said with amusement, and I could feel his breath on my neck as he spoke. “Let me see if I can figure out which ones control the heating system.”
He reached around me to point at different switches, his arm brushing against mine in the confined space. The contact was brief and completely innocent, but it sent an uncomfortable jolt of awareness through me that had nothing to do with electrical currents.
“This one,” he said, indicating a switch labeled ‘HVAC.’ “And probably this one too.”
“Should we flip them? Turn them off and on again?” I asked, though I was finding it difficult to concentrate on electrical troubleshooting when Declan was standing close enough that I could smell his cologne—something warm and woodsy that made me want to lean back against him instead of solving heating crises.
“Worth a try,” he said, but neither of us moved to actually flip the switches.
For a moment, we just stood there in the cramped corner, ostensibly examining the electrical panel but actually being very aware of each other’s proximity.
I could feel the tension building between us, the same electrical charge that had been crackling through every interaction since we started this shitshow.
“Holly,” Declan said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made me turn to face him.
Which was a mistake, because turning meant we were now facing each other in a space barely large enough for one person, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
His eyes were dark and focused on my mouth, and for a breathless moment, I thought he was going to kiss me right there in the basement, surrounded by heating equipment and holiday crisis management.
“The switches,” I said weakly, though I made no move to actually flip any.
“Right,” Declan agreed, but he didn’t move either. “The switches.”
We stood there for another heartbeat, both of us clearly thinking about things that had nothing to do with electrical panels, before the sound of a snow flurry hitting the basement windows reminded us that we had an actual crisis to solve.
“I’ll flip them,” I said quickly, reaching for the switches with hands that were definitely not entirely steady.
The circuit breakers made satisfying clicking sounds when I flipped them off and on again, but the heating system remained ominously silent.
“Still nothing,” Declan said after we listened hopefully for the sound of a system cycling on. “Next step is checking the actual furnace for obvious problems.”
The furnace was located in an even more cramped corner of the basement, behind a maze of pipes and ductwork that required us to crawl on our hands and knees to access.
I was grateful for my jeans and warm sweater, though crawling around in a basement was definitely not what I’d had in mind when I’d chosen my outfit that morning.
“There’s supposed to be a pilot light,” Declan said, consulting his phone again while we crouched in front of the furnace. “If it’s out, that would explain why nothing’s working.”
“How do we check for a pilot light?” I asked, though I was distracted by the way our knees kept bumping together in the confined space.
“There should be a little window or panel where you can see it,” Declan said, running his hands along the front of the furnace. “Here, I think this is it.”
He found a small panel that opened to reveal the interior of the furnace, but looking inside required both of us to lean forward into an even smaller space. I ended up practically pressed against Declan’s side, my face inches from his as we both peered into the furnace.
“I don’t see any flame,” I said, though I was having trouble focusing on pilot lights when I was close enough to count Declan’s eyelashes.
“Me neither,” he agreed, and when he turned to look at me, our faces were suddenly close enough that I could see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. The basement was quiet except for the sound of our slightly unsteady breathing. Declan’s gaze dropped to my mouth, and I found myself leaning slightly closer, drawn by the same magnetic pull that had been building between us for days.
“We should probably figure out how to relight it,” I said, though the words came out breathless and unconvincing.
“Probably,” Declan agreed, but he didn’t move away.
I could feel myself being drawn into another almost-kiss moment, the kind that had been happening with increasing frequency despite our commitment to professional boundaries.
But this time, instead of getting lost in the moment, Derek’s voice echoed in my head—all the ways he’d made me feel like I was too eager, too available, too willing to trust someone who was probably just being polite.
I pulled back abruptly, putting space between us that felt both necessary and disappointing and banged my head on a fucking low-level pipe.
“Ouch,” I groaned, rubbing it, but as Declan reached up, I shook it off. “The pilot light,” I said firmly, focusing determinedly on the furnace interior. “How do we relight a pilot light?”
If Declan was frustrated by my sudden retreat, he didn’t show it. Instead, he consulted his phone again and walked me through the process of relighting the pilot, which turned out to be surprisingly straightforward once we found the right switches and buttons.
The furnace roared to life with a satisfying mechanical sound, and warm air began flowing through the vents almost immediately.
“Crisis solved,” I said with relief, though I was acutely aware that we’d solved one problem while making another one more complicated.
“Crisis solved,” Declan agreed. “Good teamwork.”
As we gathered our things and prepared to leave the basement, I realized I was developing a pattern of almost kissing Declan Hayes in inappropriate locations during festival-related emergencies. Which was probably not the kind of collaboration I should be known for.
“Holly,” Declan said as we reached the basement stairs.
The way he kept saying my name made my insides melt into puddles of warm goo. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay? You seem... I don’t know. Like you’re pulling back.”
The question was gentle, but it hit closer to home than I was comfortable with because I was pulling back, torn between genuine attraction to Declan and terror that I was making the same mistakes that had led to financial devastation and emotional betrayal.
“I’m fine,” I said, which was technically true if you ignored the part where I was questioning every feeling I was having and that I had a bump the size of an egg growing on my head. “Just focused on the festival crises.”
“Right,” Declan said, but there was something careful in his voice that suggested he didn’t entirely believe me. “The festival.”
When we emerged from the basement, the community center was already noticeably warmer, and the snow outside had intensified into the kind of picturesque winter storm that looked beautiful from inside a heated building.
“We should probably head home before the roads get too bad,” I said, gathering my planning materials with movements that felt slightly too brisk and organized.
“Holly, wait,” Declan said, and something in his tone made me pause. “If I’ve done something wrong, or if I’m making you uncomfortable—”
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” I interrupted, because that was the truth. Declan had been nothing but respectful, helpful, and genuinely kind. The problem wasn’t his behavior—it was my inability to trust my own judgment about his intentions.
“Then what’s going on?” he asked quietly. “Because it feels like every time we have a moment, you immediately put up walls.”
The observation was accurate and uncomfortably perceptive. I was putting up walls, because moments with Declan felt dangerous in ways I wasn’t sure I was ready to handle.
“It’s complicated,” I said finally.
“Complicated how?”
I looked at Declan—gorgeous, kind, unfairly hot Declan, who’d spent his evening crawling around in a basement to solve a heating crisis for a community festival—and tried to find words for the tangle of attraction, fear, and self-doubt that Derek had left me with.
“Complicated because I don’t trust myself right now,” I admitted. “To know the difference between someone being genuinely interested and someone just being nice. To know if what I’m feeling is real or just... gratitude that someone’s treating me like I matter.”
Something shifted in Declan’s expression, a softness that looked like understanding mixed with something that might have been anger on my behalf.
“Holly,” he said gently, “you know you matter, right? Not because of what you can do for other people, but because of who you are.”
The words hit me harder than they should have, mainly because I wasn’t entirely sure I did know that. Derek had been very good at making me feel like my value was conditional, like I had to earn consideration through usefulness rather than simply existing as a person worth caring about.
“I’m working on believing that,” I said honestly.
“Good,” Declan said simply. “Because it’s true.”
We stood in the now-warm community center, surrounded by Christmas decorations with snow falling outside, and I realized I was falling for Declan Hayes in ways that had nothing to do with his appearance or his kindness and everything to do with the way he made me feel like I was worth believing in.
Which was exactly why I needed to be careful.
“I should really go,” I said, pulling my coat on with movements that felt deliberately final. “Long day tomorrow—we need to finalize the tree lighting ceremony details.”
“Right,” Declan said. “The tree lighting.”
We parted ways with a brief smile, and as I drove home through the increasing snow, I found myself thinking about tomorrow’s tree lighting ceremony and the outfit I’d been planning to wear—a deep red dress that flattered my curves and made me feel confident and beautiful.
I’d chosen it because I wanted to look good, but now I wasn’t sure if I wanted to look good for me or for Declan.
I should probably figure that out before I put myself in another situation where professional boundaries feel increasingly theoretical.
Some heating crises, apparently, were easier to solve than others. And some almost-kiss moments were harder to forget than others, especially when they involved kind, protective men who made you want to believe in yourself again.
The tree lighting ceremony was tomorrow, and I had less than twenty-four hours to decide whether I was brave enough to risk trusting someone again, or if I was going to keep hiding behind professional boundaries until Declan gave up and returned to his real life in New York.
Either way, I was definitely wearing the red dress. Because, regardless of my emotional confusion, I looked fantastic in red, and sometimes that was confidence enough to start with.