Page 61 of Fixing to Be Mine

Sunny lifts her paddle, her voice steady and clear, not loud, but commanding. “Tenthousand.”

The words don’t ripple through the tent; they crack it wide open.

The entire crowd gasps. Someone near the back drops a plastic cup. A few people stand from their seats to stare like they might’ve misheard.

The emcee freezes. For a moment, she acts like she’s trying to process the number.

“I—sorry,” she stammers. “Honey, did you say …tenthousand? Ten?”

Sunny nods once, deliberately. “That’s correct. But since it’s for a good cause, let’s make it twenty.”

The emcee blinks and lets out a strangled laugh before she drops the mic. It hits the stage with a hard, echoing thud, and the tent erupts into whispers, others flat-out shocked into silence. I’m one of them.

My mouth falls open, and I stare at her, knowing she placed a twenty-thousand-dollar bid on me like it was the easiest decision she’d ever made. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t flinch. She raised her paddle and said I was hers in front of this whole damn town. That number ensures everyone knows it too. No way in hell I’ll be able to pretend this doesn’t mean something. The money is real.

The emcee clears her throat like she’s trying to restart her brain, then picks up the mic with hands that are visibly trembling. Her eyes are as wide as saucers.

“Okay,” she says, dragging the word out, buying time. “We have a bid for … twenty thousand dollars. Going once …”

The stunned silence continues to progress. Most are staring at Sunny now, who’s cool, composed, with a straight back, like she won a masterpiece at an art gallery. She blew the roof off this tent.

“Going twice …”

No one answers. No one would pay a fortune to have me. Just her.

I stare at Sunny because it’s so much more than the bid. It was the way she claimed me, like I was hers.

The emcee swallows hard and presses forward, voice shaky, but still doing her best to carry on. Not a damn person in the room even breathes. I’m not.

“All right then! Last chance to bid on Colt Valentine,” she says.

I glance across the crowd. Fenix stands near the edge of the stage with her clipboard clutched to her chest, eyes wide, mouth hanging open like she witnessed something illegal. Kinsley is frozen beside Summer, hand clamped around Summer’s forearm, who’s whispering something I can’t hear, but her eyes are locked on me. Off to the side, Vera has a hand over her mouth. Her other hand is gripping a half-eaten caramel apple like she forgot she was holding it. And in the back of the tent, I spot Remi standing next to Cash.

She looks at me, then at Sunny, then back at me, and mouths,What the fuck?

Sunny winks at me as she smirks, enjoying this. And in that moment, the rest of it—the crowd, the whispers, the chaos—all drops away. All I can see is her.

The emcee exhales, like she’s finally convinced this is real.

She lifts the mic one last time. “Sold,” she says, her voice cracking slightly, her tone still stunned as she brings the gavel down against the podium. “To the pretty lady in the front row for twenty thousand buckaroos.”

There’s a beat of silence before the tent erupts into laughter and applause. There are a few shocked gasps.

Someone whistles low from the far side of the stage, and I hear Emmett shout, “Get it, big bro!”

Seconds later, I’m off the stage and moving. I cross the distance between me and Sunny with one thought only—I’ve been hers since the second I saw her.

Reaching out, I grab her hand and pull her to her feet, eyes soft, mouth parted slightly, but I don’t give her the chance to speak. I cup her face with both hands and slide my mouth across hers in front of the entire town. Her lips meet mine with urgency, soft but unshy. It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission, one that already knows the answer. She tastes like lemonade and heat. Her lips open, and I take the invitation without thinking, allowing our tongues to twist together.

My hand slips down to the curve of her waist, fitting perfectly around her like this was always supposed to happen. She exhales against my mouth like she’s been holding her breath for days. Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer, anchoring herself to me, like she’s finally allowing herself to fall.

The crowd around us fades away. The noise, the lights, the people watching—all of it blurs until there’s nothing but the wild, electric heartbeats between us. Her other hand lifts, brushing along my jaw, and I swear to God, I almost lose it right there. Because this isn’t a performance. This isn’t for show. This is her choosing me—not just in front of everyone, but with her whole damn body—and I’m choosing her back.

None of the chatter, whispers, hoots, and hollers breaks us from the moment. The kiss deepens, and her body molds against mine like she’s always known exactly where she fits. Right here, with me.

“That’s my brother!”

I recognize that voice. It’s Harrison.

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