Chapter 17
17
It doesn’t take long for the happiness bubble to totally burst. In fact, it only takes as long as it does for me to compile a to-do list for the Save the Bakery fundraiser (snappier name to come). Because the list is long, and without Grandmother’s black AmEx at hand, I don’t know how I’m actually going to pull this off.
But Emma has looked so much happier in the few days since agreeing to give the fundraiser a shot that I force myself to keep going.
And I force myself to take a painful and probably ill-advised walk next door. Either I’ve been avoiding Ben or he’s been avoiding me, but I haven’t seen him since he came into the bakery.
Unfortunately, that hasn’t kept him out of my head. I was sort of hoping for that whole out of sight, out of mind deal, but so far, the opposite has proven true. Now that I let myself somewhat sort of acknowledge a tinge of sparkly feelings, I can’t seem to erase him from my brain.
So I continually remind myself that even if these feelings were real (which they’re not), it wouldn’t matter because Ben is not one of my suitors and therefore, according to Mimi’s decree, I can’t end up with him. And even if I could end up with him (which I definitely can’t), who’s to say he would reciprocate said feelings. And even if he did reciprocate said feelings (which I know he doesn’t), it wouldn’t put me any closer to finding my way home. Mimi doesn’t stand firm on much, but her rules are definitely at the top of the list.
So yeah. Deciding to go to Ben for help with the fundraiser is likely a colossally terrible idea, but after sitting with my to-do list for a few days and making zero progress beyond the first item (make to-do list), I know I’m going to need some real assistance. And who better to help than the man who mere days after arriving here planned an entirely successful event? Really, the fact that I’m also low-key dying for another spark-laden brush of skin contact has little to do with my decision.
I remind myself of this as I knock on Ben’s door early on my morning off, ready with a notebook, two cups of coffee, and a tense smile.
“Cam, hey.” Ben’s eyes widen with surprise when he opens the door and finds me on the other side. “What’s up?”
“I need you,” I blurt out in a really embarrassing and not at all smooth way.
His eyes widen farther and it could just be the light, but they also maybe darken a little bit, and it’s a sign of attraction when pupils widen? Right?
“I mean, I need your help.” I hold up my notebook as if it were a vital piece of evidence. “I’m organizing a fundraiser to try to help Emma buy the bakery and I told her I would handle everything and also still manage all my regular shifts and I’ve planned events before but like with an unlimited budget and I obviously don’t have that here and so I really need some help.”
Ben leans against the doorjamb, a wide smile tugging on his lips. “Wait, did you just say you need my help?”
“Yes.” I refuse to beg. And I refuse to let him get under my skin.
“Could you say that part again? About how you need my help and I’m the only person in town smart enough and clever enough and handsome enough to help you pull it off?”
“Don’t really remember that last part, but yes, that’s the gist of it. I need your help.”
He pushes open the door and gestures for me to follow him inside. Taking the cup of coffee I offer as bribery, he leads me to a wood dining table. The style is similar to the farmhouse one in my own cottage, but this wood is about ten times more gorgeous.
Also, I can’t recall ever thinking of a piece of wood as gorgeous before. At least not the kind that comes from a tree.
I run a finger along the knots before I realize I’ve been staring at this table for way longer than a normal person would. And Ben’s been staring at me for the same awkward length of time.
“Did you make this?” I force myself to stop fondling his table and flip open my notebook.
He clears his throat. “Yup.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He turns his gaze to his coffee cup, which must hold some fascinating information buried in its depths from the way he’s staring. “So. What do you have planned so far?”
I turn a couple of pages in the notebook until I land on my epic-poem-length to-do list. “Well, not much yet in terms of concrete plans, but I have some thoughts.”
“Thoughts are good.”
I blink at him, pointedly.
He smiles.
“Anyway. Since I know the town is so fond of all its festivals, I was thinking of like a Thanksgiving potluck kind of thing. Like everyone in town brings a dish, we all talk about shit we’re thankful for and whatever. Something like that.”
Ben nudges his coffee cup to the side, reaching for the list. He looks it over for a second. “Not a bad idea. How do you plan to make money from it?”
“Well, we could sell baked goods, of course. And I was thinking of asking everyone in town for donations so we could have some sort of silent auction.”
His forehead creases. “Do you think that would get you enough money to save the bakery?”
I sigh and fall back in my extremely comfortable chair. “No. That’s part of the problem. One, this is a lot more work than I expected. And two, even with everything I’ve thought of so far, I still don’t think it will be enough.”
“We could always put you back in the dunk tank.”
“Ha-ha.” I tap my pen on the table. “I’m serious about this, Ben. I need to help Emma. I don’t want to let her down.”
“And you don’t want Noah to win.”
“And I don’t want Noah to win.”
“I imagine this situation might cause some problems in your relationship.”
“Are he and I in a relationship?” How many dates does a relationship make? It’s been a long time since I’ve considered that question.
Ben clears his throat again. “I think that’s probably a question for Noah.”
“Right.” I tug the notebook back to my side of the table. “So anyway. Will you help me?”
He leans back in his chair, cradling his coffee mug against his chest. “Of course. I am here to help you succeed in your tasks, after all.”
I pretend like the reminder doesn’t sting. “Great. Any bright ideas on how to make about ten times as much money as my current projection?”
His brow furrows. “That might be a little trickier. But let me think on it. I’m sure if the two of us spend some time together, we can come up with something.”
“You’re a genius.” I bolt upright, the force of my brilliant idea almost knocking me out of my chair.
“I am?”
Clapping my hands together with excitement, I flip to a clean page and start writing furiously.
“Care to fill me in?”
When I continue to ignore Ben’s pleas for information, he comes around to my side of the table, leaning over my chair so he can attempt to read my scribbles.
And I’m so focused on my project that it takes me a full minute before I realize the warmth of him is completely surrounding me. My pen clatters to the floor and I sit back, the sudden movement bringing me even closer into Ben’s sphere.
He doesn’t move. So I don’t either.
My heart is pounding like it wants to knock itself right out of my chest.
Ben reaches out for the notebook, tilting it up so he can see my practically illegible handwriting better.
He still doesn’t move.
His scent is fucking everywhere. And how come whatever woodsy natural smell he has is so much more appealing than Noah’s undoubtedly expensive cologne?
“Wait a minute. Does that say what I think it says?” Ben’s indignant tone yanks me out of my smell-induced reverie.
“Do you think it says Date Auction? If so, then yes, yes it does.”
Ben drops his arm and backs away from me as if I smell like I bathed in Noah’s cologne. “Sweetheart. Be serious. You do not actually mean to auction off people?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not auctioning off people. I’m auctioning off dates with people. Think about it. Ethan would probably bid enough on a date with Emma to cover the whole down payment.”
Ben pinches the bridge of his nose, falling into the seat next to me. “This is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”
“You’ll probably bring in a good chunk of change yourself.” Not from me, obviously, but surely someone in Heart Springs will be interested in a date with Ben.
“You are even more delusional than I thought, sweetheart. There is nothing you could do or say to get me to participate in this farce.”
I stick out my lower lip. “Ben, come on. Don’t you want to help Emma? Haven’t you been on me the whole time we’ve known each other, trying to get me to consider other people and be a productive member of society and shit like that? Don’t you want me to find my life’s passion so we can get out of here and go home?”
“Yes, but not at the cost of my dignity.”
“It’s not my fault you’re scared to think outside the box, sweetheart.” I nudge him with my elbow. The pointy part. “Admit it, this has the potential to bring in some major cash flow. Cash flow that Emma desperately needs, I might add.”
“Are you going to auction yourself off?”
“God no.” I laugh, loudly.
Ben cuts me down with a single look. “If you want me to go ahead with this—and by that I mean not only participate but also help you plan it—then you, Campbell Andrews, are getting auctioned.”
I glare at him for a solid minute, but he doesn’t back down, and fuck if I don’t kind of admire that. “Fine. I’ll do it. In fact, why don’t we take things one step further?”
Ben raises his eyebrows as if to say, Bring it on .
“I bet I’ll bring in more money than you do.”
A smirk curls up the ends of his stupid pretty mouth. “You think you—ruiner of weddings, destroyer of dates, grandmaster of the dunk tank—can bring in more money than me?”
“Yup.” I pop the p , pushing my chair back and collecting my belongings, ready to make my dramatic exit.
Ben stands too, following me over to the door, which he opens for me like he can’t help but be chivalrous. “You’re on, sweetheart. Think about how the people of Heart Springs feel about me, the boy next door who spends his time healing sick children, versus you, who gave an eight-year-old nightmares.”
I skip down his front steps, chuckling. “Oh Ben, you’re forgetting one major piece of the puzzle here, my friend.”
“What’s that?”
I turn, halfway down the walkway, and find him perched against the doorjamb, a sexy smirk on his face and a blasted smolder in his eyes—and all of that could fetch a high price at the auction. I lose my confidence for a half a second, but then I remember exactly who I am. “I’m hotter than you.”
I put a little extra sway in my step as I swing through his front gate. And because I couldn’t possibly be so uncool as to turn around at this point, I continue marching straight ahead, as if I never meant to go home in the first place.
Oh well, I never say no to one of Emma’s lattes and something tells me she might need a little convincing before she agrees to my oh so brilliant plan. To the bakery, it is.