9. Aria
NINE
ARIA
I feel pretty. Even Granny said I was pretty when Richard and I picked her up.
They regaled me with tales of all the couples in town and who’s going to be up for auction.
Granny was especially eager to divulge that Mayor Iris has three boyfriends and if they weren’t such nice boys, she’d call the state on them. Richard and I both balked at that.
I reminded her that polyamory is both not illegal and not a big deal. Richard reminded her that there’s nothing wrong with more love in the world.
My heart tripled in size at that. Where would I be if Richard hadn’t found me in the woods that one day?
I’ve got on a little velvet wrap dress that perfectly hugs my curves and brings out my eyes. Now that I think about it though, velvet might not have been the smartest choice given how much I’m sweating.
I pray I don’t have to shake hands with anyone, because these hands are borderline dripping.
I scan the room for Brodie, remembering that he offered up a date at the firehouse. He’s nowhere to be found.
Probably for the best.
I’m sitting next to Granny, who has also so generously put herself up for auction.
Her date? A tour of her dolls. Like she’s a docent and the museum is her weird collection of dolls.
I think I’ll probably end up being the only bidder.
Skye’s fiancé seems nice. Maybe I could get him to bid.
Or one of Iris’s boyfriends. I could entice them with Granny’s lemon pound cake.
I know for a fact that Richard will bid on me because we discussed it over breakfast this morning.
I never attended this event growing up, mostly because I was too young and I thought the whole thing was weird. Now, as an adult, I can see that it’s just a silly little fundraiser and not some twisted way to make people date each other.
But there’s still that little twinge of hope or something adjacent to it with the word “date.” Romance is implied.
Iris steps on the stage with a huge smile, her role as mayor doubling as auctioneer this evening. She looks remarkably pretty herself: bright blue eyes, shiny hair, and the most glowing skin you can imagine on a thirty something.
I guess that’s what orgasms from three guys will do for you.
I’m not even looking for three boyfriends like Iris. I just want an orgasm that’s not self-administered.
Small-town charity fundraiser, Ari. Not actual dates.
“Get those paddles ready, folks. It’s time to win some dates.”
The proceedings get underway. Skye’s fiancé is up first with a stargazing. Apparently no one was going to tell me he’s a doctor of astrophysics.
“This is extortion!” Skye shouts from the back. “I don’t like to share!”
“Sharing is fun!” comes a shout from someone in Iris’s crew.
“Then I guess you’d better bid,” Iris says into the microphone, getting a laugh from the room. “After all, he’s legally still single.”
“That’s the father of my children you’re talking about!” Skye says.
Simon gives her a wink and blows a kiss from the stage, and Iris starts the bidding. Skye and Mindy’s mom, Mrs. Kumar, get into a bid-off. “I like the stars,” Mrs. Kumar objects. “He knows a lot!”
“Four-hundred dollars!” Skye shouts, which is two-hundred more than the last bid.
Simon rounds his eyes at her, making a slicing motion across his neck.
Mindy’s mom gives Skye mercy for her extravagant bid, winning at $405.
It’s customary for the winner of an auction to get a hug or high five or some sign of affection from the person they’ve “won.” Simon proceeds to Mrs. Kumar’s seat to give her a very ass-out hug.
Skye glowers on from the shadows, and one of Iris’s meteorologist boyfriends elbows her side.
I thought Skye was scary when I was a kid, and I still haven’t fully reversed that opinion.
Mindy’s up next, and as a beloved figure in the town, her race is hot. “Plus,” Iris adds, “you get plenty of sweet treats with this one.”
The person who won’t back down bidding on Mindy is Sue, the firefighter from the thirst traps. Mindy looks both thrilled and flabbergasted.
“Sold to our fearless firefighter Sue!” Iris declares, as Mindy leaves the stage and heads to give Sue a hug.
Mindy kisses Sue’s cheek, and Sue’s blush is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“And on the firefighter note, here comes another smokin’ hot date with our fire captain, Brodie Campbell!
Brodie’s lucky date will go on a tour of the firehouse and get to?—”
Iris cuts off with a cackle and has to fan her face.
“Ride the pole!” Sue shouts from the crowd.
Iris covers her face with both hands and wipes a tear. “Yep. That. Brodie, come on up.”
My sweaty palms start to itch, and I bunch my hands into fists and scratch them. My breathing feels shallow. Heads turn in the crowd, everyone looking for Brodie.
“Is Brodie not here?” Iris asks. “He must have gotten called away. Okay, well, it’s his turn, so here we go!”
Bids fly in alarmingly fast. All these people want to spend time with Brodie? My fingers curl around my paddle. I should bid. I need to bid.
I shouldn’t bid. He wasn’t even sorry for how he treated me! He made an excuse. Out loud! To my face!
But then I think of the way he looked at me in that video after I fell on him and bile rises in my throat. The sweet way he used to kiss me. The gentle way he touched me. The way he held himself back from being the animal that I’m sure he wanted to be.
Some demonic, desperate voice claws from within me, insisting that Brodie Campbell is mine .
But before I can bid, he’s going once, going twice, and sold to that weird lady who runs the church choir and may have never cut her hair once in her life.
That lady? She wants to ride the pole?
“Is he still not here?” she asks, and I’m sorry, is this woman upset Brodie won’t be hugging her?
This evening is proof that you never really know anyone, no matter how much you think you have everyone figured out in a small town.
It’s Granny’s turn. She gets up there with one of her dolls as a prop. As predicted, the guys in Iris’s crew aren’t going to leave a “sweet” old lady out to dry.
But suddenly, an unexpected paddle rises.
Richard sits in the second row, looking like the cat who got the canary.
No one interferes once he bids. Granny can’t stop giggling, and Richard just shakes his head and laughs.
When she comes back to her seat, she stops by his, and he pecks her cheek. “You old flirt,” she says.
Mrs. Kumar owns the one and only bed-and-breakfast in town and offers a free night’s stay, with childcare if needed.
The guy who runs our beloved bar The Fox Hole offers a dune buggy ride.
The high school gym teacher, and apparently reigning Foxboro pickleball champ, offers to be on your pickleball team for a year.
My vision tunnels at Iris’s next words. “Next up, we’ve got the internet’s hottest mycologist. Please get your paddles ready for Dr. Aria Johnson!”
I stand, wipe my palms on the front of my dress, and climb the stairs to the stage. The last time I did this, I was getting my high school diploma. My knees may as well be knocking I’m so nervous.
I flash back to high school, to being the one never picked. To being the weirdo. To the door being slammed in my face with Brodie offering only a slightly apologetic shrug after his friend called me “the methhead.” To being the one who, if you were my friend, it was social suicide.
I lock eyes with Richard and he shoots me a wink. I let out a breath through tight lips.
The bidding starts at $20. Richard tosses his paddle up in a second. At $25, Skye raises her paddle. $50, some woman I don’t know. $75, one of the firemen I also don’t know. $100, a cop.
Iris jumps to $200. A paddle in the back of the room goes up. I can’t make the person out from the lighting on the stage.
“Do we have $300?”
Richard smirks at me as he raises his paddle again.
“$400?”
Again, the paddle at the back of the room lifts.
An “ooh” goes across the room. Granny lifts her eyebrows at me and sits up straighter. She’s in an exceptionally good mood since Richard made her night.
“$500?”
Richard grins as he lifts his paddle. My heart is pounding so hard, the whole room has to be able to see it in my jugular. I do not want Richard to have to pay 500 flipping dollars for me.
“$600?”
Again, the paddle at the back of the room lifts. It feels like a belt is cinched around my ribs. This has been the highest bid tonight.
“Do we have $700?”
Silence echoes. A bead of sweat rolls from my butt crease down my thigh, and I hope no one sees it.
“For $600, we’re going once. Going twice?”
My stomach dips as the person in the back of the room steps forward.
First, black boots and navy pants, a navy Foxboro Fire Department shirt.
Corded arms, bulging biceps, firm pecs. Warm brown eyes and a sheepish smile.
Red hair that isn’t shaggy anymore, but cropped into a stylish coif that plays with his natural texture.
“Sold for $600 to our fire captain, Brodie Campbell. He’ll be getting a guided tour of Fox Hollow Woods led by Dr. Aria Johnson.”
He stands in the middle aisle between the rows of chairs in the high school auditorium.
He holds out his arms, hands up, asking for the customary hug.
On wobbly legs, I carefully descend the stairs and walk his way.
Why did I wear heels? I own literally one pair and now is the time I choose to wear them?
I don’t know how to feel. Does this make up for everything? Is he forgiven? Do I want to forgive him?
Do I want to hug him, or deny him and give him a fist bump or something?
The broken, sad girl who nobody picked wants her friend back. She needs that hug.
I need that hug.
I could also choose to leave him hanging, to humiliate him the way he humiliated me.
But I’m a better person than he is. I treat people the way they deserve to be treated. Hell, even better than they deserve to be treated.
So I go for the hug.
I extend my arms as we get closer, sliding them under his arms and banding them behind his back.
He cups the back of my head as he holds me close, using the strength of his beefy arms to squeeze me even harder.
Am I reading too much into this? The hug feels genuine. Affectionate. Apologetic, even.
I haven’t hugged Brodie in years. We didn’t hug when he went off for college because we’d already fallen apart. He wasn’t around when I went to college. And every time I came home, I avoided him like the plague.
We were kids when we last hugged. Some aspects of this feel the same. Some things are entirely different. I didn’t fully get breasts until college, and they keep my chest from getting closer to him. I’m definitely thicker than I was and so is he.
But he’s still my Brodie and I’m trying so hard not to get wrapped up in what that means and just cling to this moment.
People applaud . I’m sure it’s for him, but for just a moment, I pretend it’s for us.
“You chose me,” I whisper.
I feel more than see his nod. “I should have chosen you every time, Ari.”
A shot of warmth pulses through me, but I haven’t lost sight of the fac that we’re not alone.
“Everyone’s watching,” I murmur.
“I have to go back to the station. Wanna come hang out?”
Oh, now he wants to hang out? Was Kyle Connors going to be there to slam the door in my face like in high school?
I come up with an excuse. “I have to take Granny and Richard home. I’ll go back to my seat.”
Brodie squeezes my hands as we part. “I want my date tomorrow. Okay?”
I nod. “Okay. Tomorrow.”
He winks as he walks backward toward the exit. I float back to my seat on a very confused cloud.
Does this make up for everything? It kind of feels like it does. He showed me affection in public. He claimed me, which he would never have done before.
But did all those people bid on me out of pity? Did he? Am I some charity case, and now everyone can feel good about themselves for finally not treating me like shit?
I should have chosen you every time.
It’s a nice sentiment, but it’s easy to say that when the stakes aren’t high. We aren’t in the pressure cooker that is high school.
And yet, $600 is a lot of dollars. How much do firefighters even make?
I focus on looking normal to the people behind me while the last few auctions take place.
It ends with an auction of one of the Boom Brothers, Iris’s storm-chasing boyfriends.
They’re all cute, but he’s the young, extra-cute one, and he gives away a local storm-chasing adventure that none of us hopes becomes necessary.
The highest bidder? Their cowboy-looking boyfriend with his hat pulled low to hide his searing-hot face.