Page 5 of Claimed and Catalogued
I narrow my eyes. “Tess…”
She pops a peppermint into her mouth. “Evie…”
We’re barely through with our standoff when our first hot Santa walks in. It’s Greg, our town dentist. He waves awkwardly and grins wide, heading toward the refreshment table in the back where the bowl of walnuts and Christmas cookies sits waiting. Behind him are two town firefighters and a single dad Imet at the grocery store last week. I judged them harshly earlier. They’re good looking guys. All hard-working and handsome in their own way.
“I’ll go get them their costumes.” Tess grins. “You keep an on eye on the door for your date.”
I give Tess a quick glare then go back to pretending to organize the bidding flags, my stomach tightening with every passerby outside that’s not Nick.
What if he doesn’t show up? I didn’t even get his number. Then again, maybe it’s better if he doesn’t. He could be a complete lunatic, a serial killer, one of those guys that takes weird pictures of women in the bathroom.
I laugh at the musings of my crazy brain as I collect the bidding cards and check my phone. It’s nearly seven. He’s probably not going to show. It’s probably for the best.
A man like Nick likely gets offers from so many women. Probably beautiful women. The kind of women that wear the red dress with the slit up the side, not the chicken sweater. The kind of women that make a fuss about their hair and makeup, and make sure their nails look perfectly perfect.
I’m not that girl. I’ll never be that girl.
I turn away from the door and head back toward the snack table to greet the men that actually showed when I hear a jingle and a whoosh of air.
I turn, heart thudding. It’s like a scene from a movie. One where every person stops to notice the giant standing in the doorway in a leather jacket with snow-dusted shoulders.
He’s here! He actually came!
I need to play it cool. Act thankful, but not overly thankful. Interested, but not too interested.
Swallowing hard, I straighten my sweater and walk toward him, trying not to combust as the filthy dreams I had about this very large man come filtering back into my frontal lobe.
“Hey,” I say, landing my hand on my hip in the coolest way possible. “What’s up? I mean… hey, thanks for coming. You have a good day?”
What the actual hell?
The man bites back a grin. “Yeah, productive. You?”
Productive? What does that mean?Did he productively murder a family of five and bury them out near the river, or did he successfully take enough weirdo bathroom pics to sell online?
I blink, attempting to reset my train of thought. “Ugh, it was super productive. I glued some things, panicked a little, ate a few Christmas cookies, and threatened to cancel the auction at least three times.”
“Sounds intense.” His grin twitches wider, and I’m two licks of a candy cane away from asking him where he buried the family he just murdered when Tess takes to the mic and starts addressing the crowd of women that are getting antsy up front.
“Oh, your suit is set up in the back closet. I can take you to get changed.”
He follows me through the crowd of staring bidders, his footsteps heavy like they mean business. I’ve never been around anyone like him before. Sure, he’s big, but he’s also got this energy. This brooding masculinity that feels like a magnet drawing me in.
Angler fish draw things in too, and then they kill them.
I need to get a grip.
“Here we are,” I say, twisting back toward him, trying not to make too much eye contact. “You can change in here. If it doesn’t fit, your flannel will be just fine. Maybe just throw the hat on or something.”
He nods and steps past me into the broom closet, dwarfing the space immediately. I didn’t think that one through.
Thankfully, the door closes. I hear a few things bang behind it, but my heart is banging harder, so I run for an escapeand head toward Tess, who’s announcing the men one by one on stage. She catches my gaze as I approach, but her focus stays on the crowd with a bright, theatrical tone.
“Our last bachelor is getting dressed, folks. I’m about to hand the mic over to tonight’s emcee and the organizer of this event… Evie Maxwell. Remember, all of tonight’s proceeds go directly into the Chestnut Lane Bookstore.”
The crowd erupts in a few dramatic hoots. I want to duck under the table and eat cookies until this is over. I’m not a performer, not like Tess. I’m the girl in the background, the one gluing things and having sick fantasies. The one with good intentions.
I can’t be her now, though. Now, I have to do what I have to do to save the bookstore!
