"Two hundred!"
The bidding continues. I watch the two women arguing in hushed tones. The brunette is grinning, the woman in blue shaking her head emphatically. But her eyes keep darting back to me, and every time they do, I feel that connection pull tighter, like a rope drawing us together across the crowded room.
There's a pause after two hundred.
"Do I hear two-twenty-five?" Evelyn calls out. "Two-ten? Anyone?"
Silence.
I should care about the money, it's for the center, after all. But all I can think about is the distressed look on her face, like the thought of someone else winning bothers her as much as it bothers me.
"Going once..." Evelyn tries to inject excitement into her voice.
The woman in blue's hand trembles at her side. She's fighting with herself, I can see it in the tension of her shoulders, the way she's biting her lower lip.
"Going twice—"
Her hand shoots up.
"Two-fifty!" Her voice carries across the pavilion, stronger than her small frame would suggest, and she's looking directly at me.
Not at the crowd, not at Evelyn, not at her friend. At me. And in her eyes, I see the same startled recognition I felt when I first spotted her. Like she's just made a decision that's going to change everything.
"Two-fifty! Do I hear three hundred?" Evelyn's voice is bright again.
Silence.
The woman keeps her hand raised, her gaze locked on mine, and I do something I haven't done in months. I smile. Just a small one, barely there, but her eyes widen and that flush deepens.
"Going once... going twice... Sold for two hundred and fifty dollars to the lovely woman in the blue coat!"
The crowd applauds, and I'm still staring at her. She's being hugged by her friend, looking flushed and like she can't quite believe her own audacity.
She bid on me. Jumped in at the last second, raised the stakes when she clearly hadn't planned to. Rescued me from an awkward silence and a disappointing take for the center.
Why?
I need to know why.
I move off stage as Bachelor Number Four takes his place. I didn’t catch his name, but it sounds like he’s a firefighter. Jonah finds me immediately, grinning like he's won the lottery.
"Well," he says.
"Don't."
"I was just going to say she's cute. That's Iris Whitfield. Elementary school teacher. Volunteers at the center, you've probably seen her on Tuesdays when she does the literacy program. Sweet as they come."
Iris. The name fits, delicate but resilient, beautiful but strong. I would remember her if I’d seen her at the center. But I don’t usually go in on Tuesdays.
"Where is she?" I ask.
Jonah blinks. "What?"
"Where. Is. She."
"Uh, probably in the crowd somewhere? There's supposed to be a meet-and-greet thing in about—"
I'm already moving.
