Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
I snort. “That is so cheesy.”
“Hush,” Justine scolds, her eyes twinkling.
“Just twenty-five dollars gets you twelve months of heroes on your wall, and all for a good cause. All proceeds go to the Santa Fund, a local charity that ensures no child is missed on Christmas morning. So, head on over to the table at the front to grab your copy now or before you leave. They’ll be there all night, but do not miss out!” This guy is clearly moonlighting as a bartender—this emcee role is his true calling. “Grab your drinks, grab a restroom break, do whatever you need to do, but be back and ready to wave those paddles in five minutes!”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll be back.” I excuse myself from the table and head to the restroom. I have the sudden urge to pee and it’s due to nerves. Is it because I’m excited to see Shane? Is it anxiety for him, because he has to get up on that stage with all these women hollering after him?
I finish my business and step out of the stall, still considering why I’m so nervous for this auction to begin.
And come face-to-face with Penelope.
Her sage-green eyes meet mine through the reflection in the mirror before she shifts back to touching up her lipstick, a deep crimson that accentuates her porcelain skin.
“Hi,” I finally offer as I step up to wash my hands.
It’s a long moment before she responds. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.” There’s no hint of the usual bitchiness in her tone.
“I didn’t want to. They made me come.” I hesitate. “Do you normally come to this thing?” I should probably stop referring to it with such disdain.
“Yeah. I bid on behalf of our accounting firm. It’s a tax write-off.” She doesn’t sound any more enthusiastic about being here than I am.
“That’s … smart.” This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had that doesn’t involve tossing barbed shots at each other. I don’t know what else to say.
Do not bring up the lobotomy.
I settle on, “Cody’s doing well in school.”
A tiny, genuine smile touches her lips. “Yeah, he is.” There’s a long pause and then, “Thanks for putting all that work together for him while he was away.”
“Of course. I’d do anything for that kid.” It comes out without a thought.
Her brow pulls together and I’m instantly panicked I’ve said the wrong thing. “Shane told me you broke up with him because you thought it was what was best for my son.” A muscle ticks in her jaw. “And I know how much you care about Shane. How much you’ve always cared about him. I get it. It’s hard not to fall for him. So … I believe you when you say you’d do anything for Cody.”
I swallow and nod. This feels like part of a twelve-step program, the step where she has to make amends.
She turns on the tap to wash the smear of red lipstick off her finger. “I saw your mom out there with Chief Cassidy.”
“Yeah. He seems nice.”
“He is.”
I hesitate. “Dottie will probably eat him alive.”
A few beats pass and then Penelope’s face splits wide with a bellowing laugh.
Not wanting to push it, I hurry to dry my hands. “Best of luck with your bidding tonight.”
“You too.”
“Oh, I’m not bidding. I’m just here to mock and gawk.” And drool over a man I’m not allowed to have. I reach for the door handle.
“Have you seen the calendar yet?”
“No. Is it as painfully cheesy as last year’s?”
She smirks. “Worse.”
I feel like I’m stumbling back to the table. Justine has gone somewhere, but our drinks and bidding paddles have arrived. Griffin is seated next to my mother, the two of them deep in conversation. She seems to be hanging on his every word and I honestly can’t tell if that’s genuine interest or part of her act. Maybe Mom really is into this guy.
Becca leans across the table, wearing a deep frown. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure,” I say truthfully. “I just ran into Penelope in the restroom.”
“And?”
“It was pleasant,” I say, baffled.
The bartender appears from behind the curtains and adjusts the microphone stand. I presume the auction is about to begin.
“Where’s Justine?”
“Right here.” She drops her calendar onto the table.
“You are not hanging that up in my kitchen.” Curiosity begs me to flip through it to find Shane’s month, but I refrain.
“Our kitchen.”
“You’re a squatter!”
“Are you ready?” The bartender’s voice blasts through the bar. The responding roar makes me wince, it’s so loud within these walls. “Welcome to Polson Falls’ annual Own a Hunky Hero for a Night auction! I’m Mike and I’ll be your host for this evening’s festivities.” A blast of dance music reverberates through the place and then Mike spends a few minutes running through the process in a smooth, practiced speech.