Page 30 of Small City Heart
She swallowed, the gulp echoing through the phone. “Not now. I’m eating the ice cream Ajay dropped off. He’s my new favorite co-worker, FYI.”
Normally, he’d chuckle at that, but he couldn’t.
“What’s wrong?” she said suspiciously.
“I think I’m falling for Patrick Pearl.”
“No joke. That’s not exactly a surprise to you, is it? You’ve had a crush on him for over a decade, and you’ve been wooing him hard since he got to town.”
“It was supposed to be a fling. I never thought he’d actually want to stick around!”
She hummed. “Does he?”
“Maybe? God, I don’t know. He’s infuriating and hot-blooded and hard to read. I think mostly he wants a place to settle down. To be safe. He wasn’t safe and happy here as a teenager, and his heart hasn’t been safe in Chicago.”
“Maybe he needs proof he’s wanted?” Suzy said softly.
Charlie’s thoughts started spinning. Maybe everything he’d been afraid of—being pushy, coming on too strong, his own neediness—wasexactlywhat Patrick needed to see.
“I can show him he’s wanted. I’d never hold him here if it wasn’t where he wanted to be, but he needs to see that Small City can be a place for him to come home to. To lay his head and rest, even if it’s not a forever type of thing.”
“You’re going to get hurt if you let him flit in and out of your life whenever he feels like slowing down for a second.”
“This isn’t about me.”
She snorted. “God, your heart is too big for your body, Charlie. Always thinking about other people.”
His phone vibrated with another incoming call. It was Nancy Kibbles, head of the Alumni Weekend Planning Committee. She’d never called him directly.
“Uh oh. I’ve got another call. This can’t be good. I gotta go, Suze.”
“Okay. Bye, loser.”
“Bye.” He flipped over to Nancy. “This is Charlie North.”
Before he’d drawn a breath, she was off and running, upset about the Alumni Weekend Live Auction. She unloaded on him about the Tripper-Trapper Travel Agency and their feud with Dolly and Frank Verden and somehow strippers and the First Baptist Church were involved. Charlie’s head was spinning. Evidently, the auction was ruined.
“Nancy, hi, hold on,” he said, interrupting her. “We’re short an auction item? Is that the issue?”
“We’re shorttheauction item. The one we’ve been advertising. A romantic getaway to a Flint Hills B&B, plus a historic homes and farm tour. I wanted the final auction item to be about local flavor. I don’t know what to do.”
“What about a piece of art from Chase Gallery? We could see if Arnold could donate a piece from a Flint Hills artist,” Charlie suggested.
“But I don’t think art from any of the locals would pull in as big a bid as the getaway. Well, except …” She trailed off and Charlie smiled.
“Patrick Pearl.”
“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “It’d be perfect. We could start the bid high to ensure it hits its worth.”
“Patrick’s in town this weekend. Could help to up the price.”
“It’s fate,” Nancy cried. “I’ll call Arnold Mikhailov now. Thank you so much for talking this out with me, Charlie. Are you still comfortable running the auction?”
“Absolutely.”
