Page 17 of Off the Beaten Path

“Wren here was just telling us she hasn’t had much luck getting bachelors to sign up for the auction.”

Grey meets my eyes, desperation coloring his features. I feel for him, I really do. But just not enough to try to get him out of this. I really do need bachelors. It’s for charity. Kind of. If nothing else, it’s for the town. And if the rumor mill is correct, Grey makes his way through town plenty without any financial encouragement.

“Unfortunately, I’m busy that night, Aunt Missy,” he says, trying and failing to extract his hand from her iron grip. He might be a firefighter, but even he isn’t strong enough to fight her off.

“Ah,” Melissa says, undeterred. “What night is that?”

He glances at me once more, and I roll my lips inward to keep from laughing at the distraught look in his green eyes, the same color as his aunt’s.

“The night of the auction,” he chokes out.

“When is the auction, honey?” Myra asks, her voice loud enough to wake the dead. She may be sixty-four years old, but she still hasn’t learned volume control.

Grey looks between the two of them, and I know the moment he gives up. His shoulders slump, and all the fight leaves his body. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

I grin at him, pleased with the turn my morning just took. “Think you can convince some of the other guys at the station?”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh and drags his palms down his face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

My smile widens. “Thanks, Grey.”

“Thanks,Grey?” Melissa exclaims, pressing a hand to her ample chest. “I’m the one who made this happen.”

“I’ve got to go,” Grey interrupts, diffusing their rant.

I feel a pinprick of guilt for not helping him out. Not enough to let him back out of the auction, though. Having someone like Grey signed up will make other men in town reconsider.

When he heads toward the counter, I push up from the table. “I do too, ladies. I’ve got some errands to run.”

Myra pats my back, the three taps she’s been doing to everyone for as long as I can remember. “Let us know if we can do anything to help, hon.”

“Keep heckling bachelors.” I stuff my notebooks and event binders into my bag. “I’ve got Stevie on the case too, but it seems like you two have more sway.” I tell them with a wink.

Moving around behind their chairs, I wrap my arms around their necks, hugging them close. Sun-spotted hands pat my arms, and I breathe in their scents—Myra, smelling of jasmine and citrus, and Melissa, who always smells like fresh laundry that’s been hanging out on the line. They’re so different in so many ways, but like opposite sides of the same coin in others.

I let them go, blowing a kiss in their direction, and brace myself to head out into the cold.

During the year, the square is always decorated. Banners hanging from streetlights and shop windows painted and dressed up to match the season. After the holidays is no exception, although I can’t help but think it looks a little dreary. Maybe it’s the generic winter theme or that half the town still has their Christmas trees out while the other half is pulling out pastels and florals for spring. Either way, when paired with the gray skies and icy rain, everything feels a little disjointed.

Or maybe that’s me, still shaken by my discovery thatHoldenisuser6872. We haven’t talked since Matty’s, not that I haven’t picked up my phone to message him at least five times. Every time I do, though, I remember it’shimon the other end, and I can’t bring myself to send it.

Everything feels jumbled up and weird with him. I don’t know whether we’re friends or neighbors who mostly annoy each other. I’ve even considered opening my blinds in my bathroom to peer into his living room, but I don’t know what I’d do if I saw him looking back.

I still can’t reconcile the two halves of him, and I’m starting to wonder if this is some elaborate prank Holden is playing to get back at me for all the packages I’ve sent to his house. And one time, last year, I bought a bunch of men’s underwear, wrote his name in the waistband, and donated them to the town-wide charity auction.

He really has a lot of reasons to mess with me, and ifuser6872hadn’t started ghosting me immediately after my run-in with Holden, I wouldn’t be convinced they’re the same person.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I hate myself for getting my hopes up that it’shim. My contractor’s name flashes across the screen, and a little thrill of excitement zips through me.

“Hey, Jimmy,” I say as soon as I swipe open the call. Jimmy Chin is a longtime family friend, and he helped my dad when my parents renovated their farmhouse a few years back. As much as this cabin remodel has stressed me out, Jimmy, at least, has always been steady.

“Wren, hi.” He sounds a little frazzled, and I hear shuffling in the background. “Are you available to talk for a moment?”

I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and duck under the awning of an antique shop, unintentionally landing in a puddle that soaks through my boots. “What’s up?”

Dread pricks at my stomach, sending waves of anxiety curling through me.

“Listen, Wren, I’m so sorry to have to do this, but I’m going to have to back out of the remodel.” His words hit me like shrapnel, and my mind starts whirring. “It’s my mom. She fell and broke her hip last night. She’s having surgery on Monday. They said that with her age, it will likely be a lengthy recovery. I’m going to have to take time off work to care for her.”

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