Page 103 of Ever With Me

Anywhyhe’d possessed to keep doing this had disappeared.

“Well, butter my biscuit, look who it is,” Kayla’s warm voice hissed beside him.

Brooks cracked an eye open. “Butter my biscuit?”

“Just trying out the country lingo. Feels good.”

He rolled his eyes, fully aware she probably couldn’t see it under his dark glasses.

“So . . . uh . . . you and Maddie caught up quick.”

“Not what you think. I just bumped into her in the orchard.”

“And her clothes fell off?” Kayla whispered.

“Don’t make me regret letting you drag me to this thing.”

“Oh, it’s fun.” She sat straighter. “Anyway, I just saw you sitting here and wanted to let you know I’m heading to the baking tent with Audrey and Logan. Cormac is already there, supposedly. I can’t get my texts to work consistently here. Logan says his grandparents make amazing apple desserts—including apple fritters—and I want to try some. Meet us over there in a bit?”

Brooks nodded. “If I can find it.”

“Would it kill you to ask for directions?”

“Probably.” He smirked at her as she left.

Kayla was damn near glowing.

She looks so . . . happy.

Like she fits here.

And she had people welcoming her into their fold, which made Brooks happy.

“Next up to the auction block, we’ve got a pretty lady offering some delicious Cortland apples. A fantastic choice for baking and eating, Cortlands have bright red skin and white flesh, with a juicy and tart flavor . . .”

Brooks stood, ready to go after Kayla. He didn’t really know what he was doing here. He wasn’t about to kiss Maddie this way.

Of course, if he won, you could just give her a kiss on the cheek.

“ . . . Maddie Yardley!” the emcee finished saying with a lift of his hand.

Brooks sat again.

Maddie came out on stage with all the confidence of a supermodel, carrying a wooden crate of apples in her hands. A megawatt smile lit her features as she displayed the apples and then stopped beside the auctioneer.

The thought of her kissing anyone else made him want to punch something. His fist curled reflexively.

“All right, the opening bid for this beautiful gal is fifteen dollars. Who’ll start the opening bid?”

A few seconds of silence passed, the crowd shifting and exchanging glances.

At last, a man, probably in his fifties, lifted his hand.

“And look at that, an opening bid from Maddie’s own father! Fifteen-dollar bid, now fifteen, now fifteen, will ya give me sixteen?” the auctioneer started.

More quiet glances.

What the fuck was happening?

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