Chapter 2
TWO
Isla
“Grandma, are you sure you want to be here?” I glance around at all the little old ladies wildly waving their paddles as the host for the night steps on the stage.
When my grandma invited me to a charity auction, as she referred to it, I didn’t realize it was actually a bachelor auction. Had I known, I probably would’ve made an excuse that I couldn’t go. Although the scene in front of me is one I’ve never pictured.
These old ladies do not mess around. One of them elbowed me in the ribs when she thought I was going to take a seat in the front row that’s apparently reserved for the people on the senior center’s fundraising committee. I assured her she didn’t have to worry, I was only going to grab a water. But I haven’t gotten that dirty of a look since high school, and that’s saying something.
Looking around the room, these senior citizens are acting more like bachelorettes at a Magic Mike show than women who spend the majority of their time in the knitting club.
“Of course I want to be here, dear. It’s fun. Besides, I have to support the seniors’ center.” She pats my hand and returns her attention to the stage. God forbid she miss one of the bachelors.
My grandpa passed away about a decade ago, and my grandma loved him with her whole heart. She’s thrived since moving to the senior center, but this whole bidding on a man to take her on a date isn’t really something I ever thought I’d see her doing.
I didn’t bother grabbing a paddle since I’m not going to bid on anyone. I really hope my grandma is only trying to show support and not about to actually bid. We can toss some money in the bucket outside to support. But she looks really overzealous and excited for the bachelors.
After the host, a petite woman named Agnes, introduces herself and reminds us why we’re all here tonight, she places her mouth to the microphone. A little too close at first, but I might be the only one whose ear is pierced since no one else flinches. “Ladies, please welcome Jefferson to the stage.”
The crowd erupts in a cacophony of whistles as a man I’d guess is probably in his midthirties steps out onto the stage wearing a pair of board shorts. He’s reed-thin, and the shorts just hang off his hips. Someone should have dressed him.
“Jefferson is grandson to our Hattie and is an ophthalmologist in town. He’s thirty-six and enjoys reading sci-fi thrillers, walking his three Pomeranians, and role-playing.”
The room ahhs and ohhs. I choke down the bile rising up my throat. Why would he put that in the bio?
“Not that kind, girls. Get your mind out of the gutter. LARP—” She puts her hand over the microphone and asks Jefferson what it stands for again. He tells her, and she nods. “Which I’m told stands for live-action roleplay. We’ll start the bidding at fifty dollars. This is your chance to spend an evening with this stud, ladies.”
Bids ring out through the room, and women wave their paddles wildly in front of one another while Agnes looks at the crowd with wide eyes. Eventually, she starts pointing at people, although the entire process is chaotic.
This series of events repeats itself for the next eight bachelors. I have to hold back a giggle every time one of these elderly ladies wins, because they look so excited at the prospect of spending an evening with one of these guys. It’s actually quite cute.
None of the men who have stepped on the stage have intrigued me. They’re okay-looking, and all of them are gainfully employed—not a given in today’s dating pool—but no one really wows me.
Not that I’d consider bidding on any of them even if I had a paddle. I’d like to think that I don’t have to pay a man to go out with me, though recent history might prove me wrong. It’s been months since I’ve even been on a date.
Grandma pats my leg. “Are you having fun, dear?”
I squeeze her hand. The honest answer would be no, but I’d never tell her that. “Of course.”
She smiles and nods before leaning back in her chair.
“Ladies, I hope you didn’t blow your whole budget yet because this next one is quite the looker,” Agnes says and winks.
I inwardly roll my eyes because she’s said some rendition of that line for every bachelor. So far, none of them have been that impressive.
“Edward, or Eddie, is Beatrice’s grandson. He’s thirty-one years old and has magic hands.”
The crowd hoots and hollers.
“He makes furniture.”
A collective “aw” rings out from the audience.
“One might say that he can handle his wood.”
I break into laughter along with everyone else while Agnes turns her attention to the curtain.
It’s odd that this Eddie hasn’t come out on stage yet. So far tonight, every other bachelor has come out from behind the curtain while Agnes is introducing them. Just as I’m wondering if Eddie had stage fright, the curtain splits and Eddie stumbles out on stage. He glances behind him, searching for the culprit, who I think pushed a very reluctant Eddie onto the stage.
And then everything around me fades away—the noise of the crowd, my grandma beside me, Agnes’s jokes. All of it. Because Eddie is…
Exceptional.
He has dark-brown hair that matches his eyes and a short beard. The flannel shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned and hangs open, giving a perfect view of his muscled chest, his defined abs, and a treasure trail of dark hair that leads below the belt on his jeans.
If you looked up the word man in the dictionary, Eddie’s picture would be there because this is a guy who knows how to do things. Things like build a deck or gut a fish. He’s the kind of guy who would gladly kill a dark, hairy spider for you or go investigate a strange noise in the middle of the night. This man would never consider paying someone else to cut his lawn because he’d take pride in doing it himself.
It’s obvious he’s uncomfortable with all the attention he’s getting. His brown eyes are wide, and unlike the other men who were happy to strut around the stage, he remains in one place, staring at the crowd, face red with embarrassment.
I’m so distracted by this beautiful man, it takes me a minute to realize that my grandma has her paddle up in the air.
I whip my head in her direction. “Grandma, what are you doing?”
She ignores me, raising her paddle higher, scrutinizing another woman on the other side of the room. “That Ruth, I swear,” she mumbles.
“Grandma?” I ask, leaning in closer.
She keeps her sole focus on Agnes saying the bids. She sticks her paddle straight up and shouts, “Seven hundred dollars.”
The crowd gasps, me included, because that’s the highest bid thus far tonight.
“Grandma!”
Again, she ignores me as if she’s not wearing her hearing aids.
“Does anyone want to bid more than seven hundred dollars?” Agnes asks, her gaze sweeping the room.
No one else raises their paddle, though Ruth has murder in her eyes.
“All right, going once… going twice… and sold to Dorothy for seven hundred dollars.”
The minute Agnes’s gavel hits the podium in front of her, Eddie bolts off stage, ducking behind the curtain.
“Grandma, what are you doing?”
She turns to look at me with a small smile and shrugs. “You only live once. Besides, the money is going to a good cause.”
“You’re on a fixed income, Grandma.”
She pats my leg. “Sometimes you have to splurge.”
“That’s a lot of money to spend on an evening with a guy you don’t know.”
A man younger than half your age, I think, but I don’t want to burst her bubble. Her smile is so big and broad, one I haven’t seen in a while. She’s happy, and whether that’s because she beat Ruth or she really wants a night out with Eddie, it’s nice to see.
She pats my hand and giggles. “Oh, he’s not for me, dear. He’s for you.”
I’m sorry, do I need hearing aids? Because there’s no way I heard her correctly.