Page 97 of The Accidental Innkeeper

Still, I wouldn’t have let myself think about him in that way before. But standing there with the ocean behind him, the auction happening, and my heart doing something it absolutely didn’t have permission to do, I finally stopped pretending.

I liked him. I really liked him.

And I had a feeling he liked me too.

“Nine thousand!” someone shouted from the middle rows.

I physically flinched. “That’s a used car,” I whispered.

“Ten thousand,” came another voice, calm and terrifying.

The lawn erupted as cards shot up. Gasps. Applause. Someone actually laughed like this was sport.

I sat very still, my coffee mug useless in my lap. My brain did the math without being asked and immediately shut itself down for safety reasons.

“So you won’t bid?” asked Becca.

I shook my head. “No.”

Lola leaned forward again. “I told you, I’ll cover it.”

“No,” I repeated firmly. “I am not letting you buy me a man like he’s a handbag.”

“I’ve bought worse things,” answered Lola with a shrug.

I didn’t doubt her. “Thanks, but no. It’s fine. Really.”

On stage, Dust-guy shifted his weight, his hands resting casually on his tool belt, looking like he’d wandered into this situation by accident and decided to handle it gracefully. He smiled at the crowd, polite, composed, and completely unaware that the price on his time had officially reached numbers that made my checking account curl up and cry.

“Ten thousand, five hundred!” shouted a female voice.

I raised a brow. This was officially out of my tax bracket. My lifetime tax bracket. I felt weird for not bidding. Not jealous, exactly. Just… displaced. Like I’d stepped out of a moment that maybe wasn’t meant for me after all.

Yet, I knew I was doing the right thing.

I couldn’t afford that kind of money. Not in any universe where I planned on keeping the lights on at the inn. And right now, the inn was most important. It had to be.

“Going once,” Helen called.

I exhaled slowly through my nose.

“Going twice…”

A woman stood from the front row. She was stunning in a way that felt expensive. Mid-fifties, maybe. Long, wavy red hair cascaded over her shoulders like she’d paid someone very well for it, a pearl choker snug around her neck. Enormous breasts were held aloft by confidence alone, and tight white linen pants had never known fear.

She lifted her card with manicured fingers. “Fifteen thousand,” she said, smiling like she already owned him.

“Fuck me,” breathed Becca.

“Fuck me sideways,” I added.

Helen blinked. Then smiled. “Do I hear anything higher?”

Silence. Absolute, reverent silence.

“Sold,” said Helen, pointing. “To the lady in white.”

Applause thundered across the lawn.