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Oh. That Joyce. The one with her face all over the real estate signs on every street in town.
I shush Maisy. “You’re a bad influence. This is a lot of money,” I whisper over my shoulder.
“I will totally help you cover it. Don’t tell Lincoln,” she snorts.
I would never let her do that for me.
What am I going to do?
It’s for charity. I can save for a down payment anytime.
And I am irrationally pissed that anyone else could even think of getting their hands on this beautiful man.
Oh yeah. I have it bad. I admit it.
“Thirteen hundred!” I shout.
Serena squeaks with glee.
“Sold to bidder 22!”
As the gavel crashes down, everyone turns to stare daggers at me. The sharpest coming from Joyce. Yikes.
The room has gone deadly quiet.
“Shit, girls, I gotta get out of here,” I say.
“No, you have to do the thing!” Charity whispers. “It’s the most romantic part!”
Violetta chirps into the mic, “Come on up to the stage and meet your bachelor, paddle number 22!”
Because I’m nervous, I grab Serena’s hand and drag her to the stage with me to face my fate.
The tall, lean man in a sagebrush Stetson, perfectly creased ropers and eyes the color of denim looks even better than he did this morning.
Jesse. Oh, wow. Have I lost my mind? Is it too late to back out?
Jesse’s eyes lock onto mine, and his face registers recognition when he sees me holding the boutonniere. I hold my breath and give him a tremulous smile.
But Jesse is as good of a man as he made me believe because he doesn’t miss a beat. He hops off the stage, ignoring all the rumblings of the rowdy, slightly drunken crowd, and comes straight at me.
I suck in a breath. “You don’t have to do this.”
Sensing my discomfort, he removes his hat, using it to block the spotlight and the ogling crowd, letting me talk to him in semi-privacy. Serena lets go of my hand as he pulls me closer. Traitor.
“I do, though. Why wouldn’t I want to?”
“Because of me and Nate,” I say.
“You and Nate a thing again?” Jesse asks.
I shake my head. “We never were; it’s just…if you feel awkward because of my date with your son that never was, we can call this off.”
“Why would I feel awkward?” He honestly doesn’t know or doesn’t care.
Those midnight blue eyes are dead serious. I am nearly hypnotized by the creases at the corners of Jesse’s eyes, the salt and pepper hair.
“Because he’s your son,” I remind him.
