Like the mountain in front of me just realized the ground shifted.
The other woman’s mouth opens, ready to counter, but the host lifts her hand, calm as a queen.
“Sold,” she announces, drawing it out like it’s the best word in the English language. “To our mysterious newcomer for four hundred dollars.”
She points directly at me.
Laughter erupts again.
My pulse trips over itself.
For a second, it feels like every person in the pavilion turns toward me at once, like I’m lit up from the inside.
I keep my eyes on the stage, because if I don’t, I’m going to bolt.
Maverick steps forward slowly, like he’s conserving energy for something that matters.
He stops at the edge of the stage and looks down at me.
Up close, he’s even more intimidating. Bigger. Rougher. His eyes are the kind of blue that feels like winter lakes, deep and cold and dangerous.
He doesn’t smile.
Of course he doesn’t.
My mouth goes dry.
I lift my chin anyway because I refuse to shrink. Not after what I just survived.
“Hi,” I manage.
His gaze flicks over me again, like he’s reading a story I’m not telling out loud.
Then his voice rumbles, low and rough.
“You sure?”
Two words.
No teasing. No judgment.
Just a question that hits me right in the ribs.
Am I sure I want to spend a weekend with a man who looks like he could snap me in half?
Am I sure I’m not making everything worse?
Am I sure I can trust a stranger when the person I trusted most just proved he never deserved it?
No.
Absolutely not.
“Yeah,” I say, voice shaking only a little. “I’m sure.”
His jaw tightens, like he’s swallowing something hard.
Then he gives a short nod, once, like a decision.
