“Worse? How?”
She ignores the question, chuckling. “If you refuse to bid on him tonight, maybe I will.”
“Gran!” I choke on jambalaya, half horrified at the image of my seventy-five-year-old grandmother bidding on a shirtless firefighter, half panicked at what would happen if she actually won.
“Speaking of the auction, we’d better get ready,” Gran says, eyes darting to the clock.
I stand, grabbing our half-eaten meals to cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate. “Yep, it’ll take a while for you to do your hair, and I want to take a shower and change again.”
I got awfully sweaty sitting in the tree and then had to rush back to work. The Gold County Courthouse, a three-story 19th-century building where the DMV is located, leaves much to be desired in terms of air conditioning. So, I’m a hot, sticky mess.
“Me, too,” Gran says.
“We’ll have to hurry, though, because I told Roxy I’d help with decorations.”
“Yes, and I told the Ladies’ Auxiliary I’d be there early to handle last-minute things.”
“I hope everything goes well tonight. Roxy’s put so much work into this event.”
Gran claps her hands together, her features still hinting at mischief. “I think it will go better than you could possibly imagine, and if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll find someone to carry you home, Cat. Maybe even the same man Dumpling already claimed.”
“Oh, Gran …”
Her words chase me down the hall as I grab my towel, my pulse already spiking at the thought of tonight.
Chapter
Five
CATALINA
White Christmas lights dangle across the high school gym, sparkling but cheap. Tinsel trying to pass for starlight. Just like everything else about this setup.
The golden floors of the lacquered basketball court glow, pink and white streamers hanging from the rafters at impossible heights.
Volunteers chatter, absorbed in their varied efforts, as tonight’s imminent auction inches closer.
Tables line both sides of the gym, decorated with hearts and other gaudy Valentine’s style decor, though it’s early September.
The smell of warm sugar and berries fills my nostrils from the cotton candy machine, humming as it warms up on one of the many tables lining the edge of the gymnasium.
Behind the tables, scrupulously folded and stashed, brown bleachers provide as much room as possible. Lights twinkle and paper hearts and cupids flutter from the stage at the far end of the auditorium.
Everything about tonight screams meat market. My stomach feels like a pit, wondering exactly what Ambrose meant by a shit show.
High school dances happened in this same gym. Same lights strung up haphazardly, though tonight they sparkle brighter than my awkward memories.
Fourteen-year-old me stood in this very corner pretending to study the scuffed toes of my shoes while my brothers and their girlfriends swayed under the streamers. The smell of cheap punch and body spray clung to the air back then. I remember thinking that I’d never belong in a place meant for glitter and twirling.
Tonight isn’t much different. Except instead of sweaty teens, it’s my grandmother’s Auxiliary Ladies whispering like I’m the scandal of the hour.
Gran sits happily with them at a table, working on decorated baskets. They speak in hushed tones, occasionally breaking into laughter and sneaking glances at me.
Mrs. Langley whispers behind her hand and then gives me a wink big enough for the whole gym to see. Her perfume, lavender and mothballs, drifts towards me with her scrutiny.
Great. Soon, the small-town rumor mill will be churning out a breakdown of today’s events. Like a game of telephone, until it returns to me, more salacious and scandalous than it ever started. But that’s far from my greatest concern …
Somewhere in this gym, Ambrose will walk out onto that stage … and I can’t decide if I want to hide under the bleachers or wave an auction paddle like a lunatic.
