Everett
I can't thinkof anything worse than standing in this spot, at this moment in my life.
After everything—the Tara post, the reindeer, the fight with Sierra—standing up here like a prize bull at auction feels like a punishment designed specifically for me.
But the show must go on. That's what Caleb said. Give them something else to talk about.
So here I am. Smiling like my world isn't on fire.
Roman goes first.
The crowd loses its collective mind. Paddles fly. Numbers climb. Some woman in the third row looks ready to commit crimes.
He sells for eighteen hundred dollars and a promise to “keep the flannel on.”
Nolan goes second.
Quieter energy, but no less intense. The strong, silent type apparently does it for a very specific demographic.A group of women in matching sweaters pool their resources and win him for two thousand flat.
He looks like he'd rather be fed to wolves.
Caleb goes third.
He milks every second. Flexes. Winks. Blows kisses. Turns the whole thing into a one-man show that somehow nets twenty-two hundred dollars and at least three marriage proposals.
And then it's my turn.
Holly takes the microphone.
The smile she aims at me doesn't reach her eyes.
“And now, ladies...” She pauses, letting the anticipation build. “The moment you've been waiting for. The main event. The man, the myth, the mountain, and lovingly known as Powder Pup #3.” She draws out another dramatic pause. One. Two. Three. “Everett Morgan.”
Stepping onto the stage, I force a smile I don't feel and hope I don’t look feral.
There’s no way I don’t look feral.
All teeth, trepidation, and total heartbreak.
“Now, let me tell you what you're bidding on tonight.” Holly's voice is warm, inviting. “This man will fix your snowblower. Chop your firewood. Carry your groceries through a blizzard without breaking a sweat.” She gestures toward me like a game show host. “He'll remember your coffee order. He'll notice when you've had a hard day. He'll make you feel like the only woman in the room.”
The crowd sighs. Paddles twitch with anticipation.
Holly's smile sharpens.
“Now, I have to warn you,” Holly continues, her voice sweet as antifreeze. “This one comes with a few... quirks. Commitment issues.” She tilts her head. “A real gift for making your mascara run—and an even better gift for making you think it's your fault.”
Silence descends until the quiet becomes absolutely deafening.
Feral. Nope, my smile hadn’t dialed to feral just yet.
But now… now I'm willing to bet my mountain that I look like a record-setting case of rabies.
A few nervous laughs scatter through the crowd.
Holly grins, all teeth. “I kid, I kid. Mostly.” She gestures toward me. “Now who wants to start the bidding?”
The paddles go up. The numbers climb. I stand there like meat on a hook, watching the room blur past me while Holly calls out bids with barely concealed venom.
