“Trust me, I’m not looking to go through this again.” I grabbed a tamale for myself before they disappeared completely. “The rehab’s worse than the actual injury. My physical therapist at Walter Reed was some kind of sadist.”
Chief cleared his throat, a familiar glint in his eye that immediately put me on alert. “Well, it’s good timing that you’re back, MacAvoy. Perfect timing, actually.”
Something in his tone made the others exchange glances.
“Why’s that?” I asked warily.
“Annual fundraiser’s coming up on Saturday.” His smile widened. “Bachelor auction.”
Meatball started cackling. “Oh man, your face!”
“No,” I shook my head firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“Department tradition,” Chief reminded me. “And you missed last year being deployed.”
“I’m injured,” I protested.
“Not too injured to stand on a stage and look pretty,” Twitch countered. “Besides, you’ll fetch a good price. Ladies love the wounded hero thing.”
I stared at Chief Holloway’s smug face, feeling the trap close around me. The bachelor auction. I’d forgotten all about it in the haze of rehab and homecoming. The annual parade of firefighters on stage while the town’s women waved checkbooks and hooted like it was a Chippendale’s show. Last time I’d participated, Mrs. Whitaker, who had to be pushing eighty, had won me and made me clean her gutters in what she called “appropriate attire”—which turned out to be shorts two sizes too small.
“I just got back,” I tried. “Nobody even knows I’m in town.”
“They will by tomorrow,” Donkey said cheerfully. “My mom’s already texted six people.”
Moose nodded. “And Meatball’s girlfriend works at the salon.”
“Which means every woman in a thirty-mile radius will know by closing time,” Meatball confirmed without a hint of shame.
My mind drifted to Pepper. Would she come to the auction? The thought of standing on that stage while she watched made my stomach twist. Or worse—what if she bid on me? That used to be our routine. Our own “donation” to the department to save me from the other women in town. What would I even say to her after three years? Obviously, I needed to figure that out for my own non-plan to succeed, but that would be on my own time.
“Fine.” The word tasted like defeat. “But I’m not wearing a bow tie this time.”
The guys erupted in cheers, already plotting my humiliation. Twitch’s leg bounced double-time as he started listing potential “theme outfits” that would “showcase my assets.”
As the conversation devolved into increasingly ridiculous costume ideas, Chief caught my eye and jerked his head toward his office. I followed him, grateful for the escape.
He closed the door behind us, muffling Meatball’s suggestion that I dress as a baked potato—“You know, lean into the nickname!”
“Good to have you back, son,” Chief said, settling into his chair. “You thought anymore about what we discussed before you shipped out?”
“Definitely,” I said without hesitation. “I’ve been studying when I’m not doing rehab.” Hadn’t been jack all else to do.
The pride that spread across his weathered face made my chest tighten.
“Good. You’re just in time for that, too. Part one is next week.”
It was the only part of my Win Back Pepper Plan that I was firm on. I hadn’t intended to jump in quite this fast, but… no time like the present. I’d wasted enough time away from her.
“Where do I sign up?”
Four
Pepper
I tugged at the hem of my dress for the hundredth time, trying to convince myself that the scrap of fabric Meghan called a dress wasn’t riding up with every step.
“Stop fidgeting.” Allie linked her arm through mine as she practically dragged me through the community center doors. “You look amazing.”
