Heads swiveled, followed by a few murmurs.
“Lennox Falls grows because all of us believe this town is worth investing in.”
Applause rose again.
“That belief is why every dollar raised tonight goes right back into the community. The scholarship fund, the music programs in our schools and community centers, six hundred kids in our athletic program across a variety of sports, and the revitalization of once-neglected sections of our community, including Ironwood.”
Applause started building again.
My voice became thick as I looked out at the crowd. “Lennox Falls is not an accident. It’s proof that when a community invests in itself, the world pays attention.”
I looked at my siblings standing beside me, and I felt it. The weight. The responsibility. The pride.
“It is the honor of our lives to continue what our parents began. To take care of the town that took care of them… and us.”
I lifted my glass. “So thank you all for being here. For believing in what Ezekiel Lennox started when he bought that first plot of land as a freed man. For believing in what our parents saw when they chose to stay. For believing in what we are all building together.”
The standing ovation lasted a full two minutes, some guests wiping their eyes.
“Now, before we let you all go enjoy the rest of your evening, a few quick reminders. The silent auctions in the foyer close at eleven sharp. We have art from Tasha Pryce-Allen, private studio sessions at WadeHouse with Tre Wade and Raschad Carter, one week at the Granger family’s place in Sea Island, and a custom piece from Naima Pryce’s atelier. Bid early. Bid often. Don’t make my sister chase you down to close them out. She’s been planning this night for months and her patience is not something I’d test.”
Laughter.
“And in about thirty minutes, after dessert is served, we’ll run our fourth annual bachelor auction.” I paused. “Bid generously and thank you again for being here. To Lennox Falls. To community. To family.”
I let the applause settle. Then I walked off the stage.
The next twenty minutes were a flood of donors finding me on the floor, people I hadn’t seen in ages pulling me into handshakes and hugs. A tearful older woman from Mount Zion, who’d been at our parents’ wedding, holding my hand and telling me Mama would be proud. I thanked her and meant it.
By the time I made it back to my seat for a quick breather, I had ten minutes before the MC took the stage for the auction.
Alyssa was leaning into me as I sat down. “Your speech was very moving, Julian. So good,” she said quietly.
“Thank you.”
Suddenly, the MC was tapping his microphone.
“Brace yourself,” Simone whispered to her. “This is the part where my brother gets sold.”
“Simone.”
“I’m just preparing her. They bid hard.”
Alyssa took a sip of her champagne and said nothing. We hadn’t talked about this part of the night or much else for that matter since the gazebo. I’d had half a dozen chances and let every one go by.
The auction was the auction. The MC turned it into the production he turned it into every year. I went first because I had to set the tone. I stood at center stage with my philanthropist face fully deployed, and I knew within the first thirty seconds that I was not going to make it through this auction without breaking my own discipline.
Because I was supposed to look at the bidders. That was the script. You stood up there, smiled, looked at the women raising their paddles, and played gracious.
But I could not stop looking at table eleven. Alyssa. I tried. Looked everywhere else, ran the names of the bidders in my head as a discipline exercise. The cobalt dress. The development consultant. The woman from Raleigh.
Then somebody called out fifteen thousand and the room gasped.
Sabrina.
I genuinely had not expected her to be here, let alone bid on me after making it clear that our time together was done. My eyes landed on Alyssa, who was looking at me. Steady and composed.
“Twenty thousand.”
