Chapter 18 Lottie #2
Strategic lighting equipment is positioned around wooden fence posts and antique farming tools that have probably never been used for anything that might contain dirt.
There’s even a vintage tractor that looks like it rolled off a movie set rather than out of a working field, positioned at the perfect angle to provide what I can only assume is masculine backdrop appeal.
And boy, does it ever deliver. I can hardly wait to see Noah and Everett posing in this country-fried wonderland.
“I’ve spent hours preparing this setup,” Muffin announces while gesturing toward her creation with such enthusiasm you’d think she was unveiling a masterpiece. “Multiple angles, perfect lighting, and enough props to capture every possible fantasy involving authority figures and rural masculinity.”
I knew that’s what she was doing. She’s a smart cookie, I’ll give her that. Suddenly I’m craving both cookies and biceps.
“Now then,” Muffin announces, pulling out an impressive array of props that looks like they were borrowed from a costume shop specializing in dark fantasies that are only quasi-legal. “I’ve got the perfect accessories for each of you!”
She hands Noah a deerstalker hat and a magnifying glass as if she’s bestowing knighthood on him. “For our sexy detective theme.”
Noah takes the props and grimaces as if he’s just been asked to don a clown costume. “Sexy detective?”
“Oh yes,” Muffin breathes. “Very mysterious, very commanding. Think Sherlock Holmes but with better abs.”
“Foxy’s got some serious abs himself,” Carlotta offers.
I’d nod, but Everett’s watching.
“Well, they will be shirtless.” Muffin winks at Carlotta. “So I guess we’ll see both of their abs.”
I give an audible gulp. The nudity around here is about to get real.
Everett receives a judicial robe and gavel and frowns. “I’m not sure this is appropriate judicial attire.”
“That’s exactly the point!” Muffin claps her hands together. “We’re going for fantasy justice—all the authority, none of the boring legal precedents!”
Everett lifts a brow my way. We may have let a few of those judicial fantasies fly in the bedroom but never in the public sphere, let alone for the sake of thousands of women everywhere to hang on their walls for posterity.
Carlotta settles herself on a nearby hay bale because, let’s face it, she’s just been given a front-row seat to the entertainment event of the century.
“Well, well, well,” she purrs, crossing her legs. “Christmas came early this year. And it’s wielding badges and gavels.”
“And not much else,” I’m quick to point out, much to Noah’s and Everett’s chagrin.
Muffin belts out a maniacal laugh. “Let’s start with some fully clothed shots,” Muffin suggests, easing them into whatever artistic vision she’s cultivated. “Just to get comfortable with the poses.”
Both men reluctantly don their respective costumes and strike poses that look like they’re being held hostage by a camera while Muffin snaps photos with the enthusiasm of documenting rare phenomena.
And let’s face it, to have Noah and Everett half-dressed in the same room is a pretty rare occurrence.
Or sometimes your average weeknight at my house in the summer.
It can get pretty darn hot in Honey Hollow in July.
And I say thank goodness for mercury rising.
Not that they’ve shed an ounce of clothing yet, but I have a feeling we’re getting to the good part.
“Perfect!” Muffin is quick to encourage them. “Now, a little more brooding, Everett. Think about justice! Think about right and wrong!”
“I am thinking about right and wrong,” Everett mutters, “and this definitely falls into the latter category.”
“Noah, hold that magnifying glass up!” Muffin calls out. “You’re searching for clues! You’re on the trail of a dangerous criminal!”
“I’m starting to think the most dangerous criminal here is you,” Noah is only half-teasing as he adjusts his deerstalker hat with resigned professionalism.
Lenny’s mane puffs up as he gives a little roar. “The male peacock displays his plumage with more conviction than this. Tell them to put a little oomph into it. They’re representing an entire species, you know.”
I’m not saying a word.
“And now,” Muffin announces with the kind of theatrical pause that suggests she’s been building up to this moment, “let’s get a little more... artistic. Feel free to disrobe as far as you’re comfortable!”
Both men freeze with expressions that suggest they’ve just been informed they’re about to undergo involuntary medical procedures.
“Disrobe?” Everett repeats carefully.
“How far is comfortable?” Noah asks with suspicion.
Funny, neither of them is this reluctant around me. If I say drop your drawers, drawers are dropping.
“Oh, you know,” Muffin waves dismissively. “Just enough to show off those magnificent physiques! Nothing inappropriate, just... suggestive.”
Carlotta perks up. “Now we’re talking! Drop ’em and show us what ya got, Foxy and Sexy!”
“I’m not sure this is what we agreed to,” Everett says, but he’s already looking at Noah with the competitive expression of someone who’s not about to be outdone by his nemesis.
“It’s for charity,” Noah points out, though his tone suggests he’s trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.
“Exactly!” Muffin beams. “And charity requires sacrifice. In this case, the sacrifice of a few articles of clothing for the greater good.”
Noah and Everett exchange a look. Both men stand perfectly still for approximately thirty seconds, hoping this situation will resolve itself through sheer force of will.
“Well?” Muffin prompts cheerfully with her camera poised and ready.
Everett clears his throat, and that look on his face suggests he’s just been given a life sentence. “Perhaps we could start with something minimal.”
“Very minimal,” Noah agrees, tugging at his collar as if he’s just realized he’s made a terrible mistake but is too proud to back down.
Both men reach for their watches simultaneously, remove them with the careful precision usually reserved for defusing explosives, and place them on a nearby fence post.
“Excellent!” Muffin chirps. “But I think we can do better!”
The two men look at each other again, and I can practically see their competitive nature kicking in. Neither wants to be the first to refuse, but neither wants to be the first to comply either.
Noah yanks his tie off with the efficiency of someone ripping off a Band-Aid. Everett follows suit, removing his with hostile precision. Both ties join the watches on the fence post.
“This is the world’s angriest striptease,” Carlotta purrs with delight. She would. “They look like they’re being held at gunpoint by a very polite photographer.”
Next come the jackets. Everett simply slips out of his without ceremony, while Noah wrestles with his like it’s personally offended him.
“Excellent!” Muffin encourages. “Now you’re getting into the spirit! Very masculine, very confident! Way to outshine one another.”
“I feel many things right now,” Everett replies dryly. “But outshined by Noah isn’t one of them.”
Lenny growls from near the stables. “Even I’m embarrassed, and I’m dead. At least when I was at the zoo, the spectators kept their distance and didn’t ask me to pose suggestively.”
“Magnificent!” Muffin exclaims. “But I think we can do better. Those shirts are hiding your best assets!”
Both men look at each other with the expression of condemned prisoners who’ve just been told the execution has been moved up.
“I’m not sure this is necessary,” Noah begins, but Everett is already unbuttoning his shirt with determined efficiency. I’m guessing it’s because he’s decided to get this over with. “If he’s doing it, I’m doing it,” Noah mutters, following suit with reluctance.
Everett unbuttons his shirt slowly, each movement as controlled as can be. The fabric parts to expose his chest as he shrugs it away. Noah simply pulls his over his head and tosses it aside, his movements fluid and unbothered.
“Oh my word,” I breathe, because watching two of the most professionally dignified men in Vermont engage in competitive disrobing is something that I can’t tear my eyes from.
Shirts hit the straw-covered floor in rapid succession, and just like that, this wholesome little barn transforms into something that probably needs a disclaimer and a velvet rope.
Noah folds his arms across his chest, and his muscles flex as if they got the memo that this moment required extra effort.
Everett leans against the fence post with that effortless, self-assured stance that has probably caused more than a few female jurors to forget their own names. And me. What’s my name again?
Washboard abs abound as both men stand shirtless.
Carlotta chuckles. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have full chest exposure! The competition is heating up,” she says with the running commentary with the enthusiasm of a sports announcer.
She drops onto her throne made of hay bales and fans herself with wild abandon.
“Well, butter my biscuit and call me smitten. This is the kind of community service I can get behind.”
Muffin circles them like a hungry photographer stalking rare, shirtless wildlife. Her camera fires off shots as fast as her excitement. “Yes! Perfect! Give me intensity! Give me danger!”
“I am danger,” Noah says, deadpan.
Everett doesn’t even look at him, speaking directly to the camera. “He thinks he’s danger. I’m what danger fears.”
And that’s when it hits me. This calendar isn’t just a fundraiser. It’s a threat.
To my sanity.
To my heart rate.
Possibly to the foundation of the barn.
“Magnificent!” Muffin cries out, her camera clicking away. “Very brooding! Very authoritative! You both look like you could arrest someone and then sentence them to community service!”
“I’m considering it,” Noah mutters.
“The community service or the arrest?” Everett asks.
“Both. Starting with whoever convinced us this was a good idea.”