19. Nate
Nate
I’m doing my best to hold the smile on my face, but it’s fucking hard as my world crumbles in front of me.
I make eye contact with Rory, hoping to reassure her. But I don’t know if I can keep up this act, let alone convince her that everything is okay when it’s fucking not.
She lifts her chin and attempts to smile as she meets my eye. She shrugs, and it’s clear that she’s trying to act like this isn’t a big deal, but I know better. I can read every expression that flits across that gorgeous face of hers.
As I hold her gaze, she swallows hard. She’s holding on by a thread.
It’s killing me that I caused all of this.
This is all supposed to be in good fun, but if the idea of having someone else win a date with me is pushing her to the brink of tears, it’s time to call it quits.
I should have said no when Jim asked me to be a part of this whole spectacle.
Or protested when they announced that the charity event was a bachelor auction.
Or made sure that Rory knew she could go as high with her bid as she wanted, that I’d make sure she had the money, because I don’t mind donating a few dollars to the school playground fund.
But I didn’t, and now I face the consequences as Yvonne and Kaitlyn continue to bid against one another, while Rory slumps lower in her chair, looking defeated.
I could pull out of the competition.
The thought pops into my mind out of nowhere.
I could drop out, walk away.
No winning bid. No Mr. Lonesome title. No requisite date with High Lonesome’s bullies.
I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, if it means being there for Rory, I’ll do just about anything.
On the other, I care about her family, too, and I promised Jim I’d do this.
My stomach twists into knots as I debate the two less-than-ideal options.
How did it come to this?
Yvonne raises her paddle with a bid of four thousand dollars.
Kaitlyn counters with four thousand and twenty-five dollars.
Forty-one hundred from Yvonne.
Maybe I should be flattered by their perseverance.
But my gaze is fixed on Rory. And as I study her face, it becomes clear what I need to do.
I need to put a stop to this.
I open my mouth. “I—”
“Ten thousand,” someone calls out, making me pause.
The voice is gravelly but firm, and it takes me a minute to identify the owner.
Her arm is raised just enough to be visible over the crowd, a few inches above her gray hair. Her sharp eyes are fixed on the two mean girls, like her bid is a missile aimed directly at them.
“I can go a lot higher than you can, ladies. Time to cut your losses,” Marge says.
A wave of relief rushes through me while, at the same time, my mouth drops open in shock.
I mean, I’m glad Marge is taking control, but…ten thousand?
Marge doesn’t have that kind of money to throw at a silly bachelor auction, even if it is for charity. At least, I don’t think she does.
It strikes me that I don't know everything about Marge. She’s like one of those icebergs, where what you see is only a fraction of the whole, and in her case, the visible part is carefully curated.
I hold back my laughter as the crowd falls silent.
In the wake of Marge’s showstopping bid, Yvonne crosses her arms over her chest, glowering. Kaitlyn just pouts.
Both of them appear to be done bidding.
Martha, too, seems taken aback by the amount of Marge’s bid, but she manages to recover quickly. “Sold! To Marge for ten thousand dollars. We appreciate you supporting our cause.”
When I meet Rory’s gaze, her brows are pulled together in confusion, probably wondering, like me, where Marge came up with that amount of money to buy a date with me.
And…why?
Martha taps the microphone to regain the audience’s attention before I can read too much into the situation.
“Thank you again to all of our contestants and bidders! Again, if you had the winning bid, please see the table in the back to pay up and leave your phone number there. Your bachelor will be in touch to arrange a date!”
After I recover, at least partially, from the shock of that out-of-nowhere win—not to mention the insane amount she bid—I start thinking through logistics, tweaking my initial plans.
I’ve considered a couple of different outcomes for the auction. First, and most ideal, Rory would win, and I’d take her out for a romantic dinner. Probably propose to her with a hundred roses or a thousand lilies or a million dandelions or whatever number of flowers would be considered acceptable.
The other outcome that I figured might be a possibility was that someone like Yvonne or Kaitlyn would win. Their names were at the top of the list because they’re just about the only ones in town who would continue to bid against Rory.
If one of them won, I was planning on a quick lunch at Luigi’s or Mountain High Pizza to fulfill my end of the bargain. No flowers, minimal conversation.
For the record, Rory has nothing to worry about from either of them, or from anyone else. I’d never cheat on her. Hell, I can’t picture myself ever wanting another woman the way I want Rory. She’s everything.
She’s the one I want to pull close to me in bed every night. The one I want to have kids with one day.
When I get old, she’s the one I want sitting next to me on the porch, rocking in our chairs as we watch the sun set.
So of course she’s the one I was hoping would win this auction. But Marge, while a wild card in this scenario, is a sweet old lady. I’ve known her forever, and she’s always been the kind of person who will step in to help out her neighbors.
This might be the first time that helping out her neighbors involves purchasing a date to protect the man’s girlfriend, though.
I make my way toward the table in the back, planning to let the organizers know that I’ll just find Marge at Lone Brews to arrange our…meeting.
Calling it a date just seems too weird.
But before I can make it all the way there, someone taps me on the shoulder.
“Well, then, Officer Patterson.”
I recognize Marge’s gravelly voice even before I turn around, and when I do, she’s wearing her typical expression—mostly stern, but with a twinkle in her eye.
“It seems you owe me a date,” she says.
Her tone holds just a touch of teasing, and her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a laugh.
“Marge. Thanks for your donation. And…thank you.”
She waves a hand dismissively in the air. “Ah, well, I’ve been hoping to have my chance for a date with you, so I’m just glad for the opportunity. I’d have paid any amount for some time with the most eligible bachelor in town.”
“Surprised you didn’t place your bid earlier in the auction,” I say, deadpan.
Marge taps a gnarled finger against her lips. “Ah, well, I was shy.”
I hold back a snort. Marge is the last person I’d call shy.
“I’m just so grateful that those two young women kept on bidding. If they hadn’t kept the auction going, I might not have worked up the nerve to bid, you know. I should really thank them.”
The fact that she’s still maintaining a straight face is downright impressive. I’m barely holding in a laugh.
Allie, Stacey, and Rory are a few yards away, but from the way their shoulders shake and the occasional snort of laughter, they’re hearing all of this.
“Now, then. Where are you taking me on our date, young man?” Marge asks.
I push a hand through my hair. I hadn’t considered Marge in any of the likely scenarios, so I don’t have an answer.
She deserves a nice meal—not just for her sizable donation to the playground charity, but for saving Rory.
Marge may want to pretend that her bid was self-centered, but we all know that she was doing it for Rory. She went above and beyond, and I want to thank her properly.
“How about the Tin Lantern?” I ask.
It was where I was thinking of taking Rory, if she’d won. It’s pricey, but again…Marge’s bid was insane.
For ten thousand dollars, she could get dinner at the Tin Lantern plenty of times over.
Marge finally barks out a short laugh. “Young man, that’s a place you take a lover. Not a woman who’s older than your mother.”
“Well, you did overcome your shyness to secure this date with me. So I’d like to treat you right.” I wink at her.
She purses her lips, eyes narrowing as she sizes me up.
I’ve seen this expression before. It’s her scheming look. Usually, it emerges when she’s about to attempt to play matchmaker or otherwise meddle in someone’s life.
“You know?” she says, tilting her head. “I have an idea.”
The last time Marge had an idea, it ended with her victims married to one another. I’m still not sure if Jack and Diana ever figured out just how much of their wedded bliss is thanks to Marge.
“What’s the idea?” I ask, when she doesn’t volunteer the details of whatever she’s cooking up in her mind.
“Oh no.” Marge shakes her head. “You have enough on your plate, young man. I’ll take care of all of the planning for this one.”
“Do you need me to make a reservation for a restaurant? Or…” I rack my brain for other ways I could contribute, needing to have some control over this scenario.
“No need. I’ll take care of everything. I know the owner.”
This doesn’t narrow it down. Marge knows everyone in town. Hell, she probably has a Rolodex full of business owners in the greater Denver area that owe her favors.
I wouldn’t put anything past her.
From behind Marge, Rory catches my gaze and raises her eyebrows.
“Do you need help?” she mouths, pointing to Marge.
I shake my head with a small smile, and Rory nods before turning back to her friends.
I look back to Marge. It feels wrong to let her take on all the responsibility of planning, even if it’s just for a platonic date. Traditional gender roles and all that, I suppose. Or maybe it’s just my need to be the one in control.
But there’s no use arguing with Marge, unless you enjoy losing. Anyone in town who’s attempted to pay for coffee when she insists that it’s on the house has learned that one.
When my buddy Lawton first moved to town, he hadn’t yet figured out that he should just stuff a bill in the tip jar and walk away. He attempted to reason with Marge, to get her to accept payment for his coffee, and finally, she did.
The next day, when he came in for a coffee on his way to the station, Marge told him with a straight face that she was out of coffee.
She did the same the next day.
After four straight days of the only coffee shop in town being mysteriously out of coffee, Lawton apologized.
Marge immediately made him a large coffee. On the house.
I scrub a hand over my jaw and sigh, relenting. “All right, then, Marge. You can handle the planning. Just let me know where and when.”
She gives me a short nod. “Thank you, young man. How is Friday afternoon for you?”
“Should be fine. Let me check.” I peek at the calendar on my phone to confirm that I’m not scheduled to work that day. “Wide open. What time?”
“Two p.m.” Marge gives me another curt nod and turns toward the exit.
“Where should I meet you?” I call before she can get too far. “Or should I pick you up?”
She doesn’t pause, only glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll pick you up. Dress casual.”
“Should I—”
This time she pauses her stride, holding up a hand as she turns around to stop me mid-sentence. “No need, young man. I’ll take care of everything. You just focus on your girlfriend over there.”
She nods toward Rory, then turns her back to me and makes her exit.
As she passes the table where the other winners are writing checks, she barely pauses as she drops a folded piece of paper onto the table.
“What are you planning for your date with Marge?” Rory asks, coming up beside me. “I’m glad she won. You should do something nice for her.”
I realize my mouth is still hanging open.
I swallow before I turn to Rory. “I, uh. She’s planning it.”
Rory’s eyebrows pull together into a line. “You’re making her plan the date?”
I shake my head. “She insisted. You know how Marge is. She’s picking out the place. And…she’s picking me up.”
Rory blinks at me. “She’s picking you up?”
I shrug. The situation is weird all around. I don’t really want to think too much about it.
“Yeah.”
“Oh my god. Hang on.” Rory darts over to Allie and Stacey.
Her voice is too soft for me to make out all the words. I can only imagine her version of things as the women look at me in unison and then dissolve into giggles.
“Are you going to make sure she brings him home before curfew?” Allie asks Rory, her voice carrying.
If they all think the situation is hilarious, I suppose that provides some reassurance that I’m not sexist for feeling strange about it.
They keep laughing so long that tears run down Stacey’s cheeks, and as Rory grips her side while she laughs, I start to chuckle, too.
Marge is taking me out on a date that she paid far too much money for. The entire situation is ridiculous and hilarious.
I make my way to the girls and drape an arm over Rory’s shoulder. “Come on, babe. Let’s head home.”
She wipes her eyes, her smile wide. “Oh no. I’m going to take you home, babe.”
Her words send a fresh round of laughter through the group, and I join in. Being picked up by my date may be strange, but if my girlfriend wants to take me home? Hell, I’m man enough to hand over control for the night.
Rory slips her hand into mine and tugs me gently away from Allie and Stacey, waving over her shoulder as she leads me toward the exit.
Her confidence is sexy as hell. I can’t wait for her to get me home.
And oddly, I’m looking forward to my date with Marge, too. In a completely different way, obviously.
Marge has great insights. I’m curious to see what she has to say about my plans to propose to Rory. If she has any thoughts on what makes a woman say yes. Hell, I don’t even care how crazy the idea is. I just want to make Rory mine for good.
When we reach the car, Rory grabs the keys from my hand.
“Get in,” she says, smirking.
I lift an eyebrow. “Kind of bossy, huh?”
Not that I’m complaining.
She smacks my jeans-clad ass. “You know it. Now get in and let me drive your hot ass home, Patterson. I have plans for you.”