Chapter 20 Alex
ALEX
Icouldn’t believe I fucking agreed to this.
First it was Dottie, hitting me with those sad eyes she knew would get to me. Then Helen pulled out a whole soppy story about how I never volunteer for anything in town, and this was my shot now. That I should give back or whatever the hell that meant.
Give back to what? I paid my taxes. I fixed things people had given up on. Took what was broken and made it solid again. That should count.
Yet, like a fool, I agreed to it.
I’d agreed to help build their platform for this thing—lumber, bolts, measurements. That was my lane. I knew where I stood with wood and screws. They didn’t flirt. They didn’t guilt-trip.
Somehow, between hauling planks and checking load limits, Helen had talked me into volunteering too.
Which was how I ended up here.
“You have such strong arms,” said the red-haired woman who’d bought me for the day.
Fuck me.
She batted her eyelashes, and edged closer, close enough that her enormous breasts brushed my arm like it was intentional. Which, let’s be honest, it absolutely was. She smelled like expensive perfume and entitlement.
If she thought those made her sexy, she was an idiot.
“I’m Sabrina,” she continued, still touching me. “And you’re Alex.”
I frowned, resisting the urge to pull away. “Have we met?”
“No,” said Sabrina, smiling wider, her expensive veneers gleaming as her hand slid just a little higher. “But I know you. I’ve been watching you for a very, very long time.”
Christ.
I looked away before my face gave anything away.
Her face was… tight. Medically pulled into a permanent look of surprise.
I never understood why women feel the need to do that to themselves.
If they think they’re fooling us, they’re wrong.
It never looks natural. It just looks expensive and uncomfortable. And wrong.
I turned back to the crowd, and that’s when I heard it.
A laugh—light, familiar, and sharp in a way that cut through the noise.
I knew that laugh. Worse, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
I looked over and found New York sitting next to Becca, watching the other poor idiots get sold like livestock.
She had that look on her face, the one she wore when she was amused but trying not to be, like she was pretending this was all just entertaining nonsense instead of something she was actually paying attention to.
She didn’t look at me. That somehow felt deliberate.
And for the first time since Helen had opened her damn mouth, I felt it low in my body, something hot and inconvenient.
Because this? This was not how I wanted New York to see me.
And it definitely wasn’t how I wanted to feel about it.
I had thought for a second that New York was going to bid on me, against the redhead. The idea hit hard and fast.
I would’ve hated it if she did.
Not because I didn’t want her. Christ. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was I knew she didn’t have that kind of money to throw around. I’d seen her count receipts. I’d watched her juggle repairs like she was holding together a sinking ship with duct tape and caffeine.
I wouldn’t have let her.
And then the redhead lifted her card again, confident, casual, like she was ordering dessert.
Fifteen fucking thousand. That settled it.
New York stayed seated. I saw her shoulders tense, just a fraction, before settling, like she’d made a decision she didn’t love but could live with.
That hit harder than the bid.
Sabrina looped her arm through mine like we were already a thing. “Looks like I got the better deal,” she said, pressing her chest into my side again.
I resisted the urge to yank my arm away. “Looks like it,” I said, neutral, polite, and professional. I used the same tone with clients who asked if I could “just throw in” an extra bathroom for free.
She laughed like I’d said something charming. “You don’t talk much. Do you?”
“I do,” I said. “Just not about nothing.”
She smiled wider. “I like a man of mystery.”
I doubted that. Women like her liked men they could parade. Accessories with arms.
I caught Helen’s eye up on the platform. She froze at what she saw on my face. There it was, that flicker of panic. Like she had a feeling I might just walk. Like she was already calculating how bad it would look if I did.
I considered it. I really did. But I couldn’t. Not when this woman had dropped a small fortune on me. Not when I knew the money was going to good use for scholarships, repairs, and things that actually mattered.
Damnit. I should’ve never agreed to this.
Still, I gave Helen a tight smile, just enough.
Her shoulders dropped instantly, relief flooding her face. If she didn’t relax, she was going to give herself a heart attack before the bidding even finished.
I watched as Helen stepped down the platform and walked over to us, relief written all over her face. “Alex, thank you again,” she said quietly. “I promise, this will be simple.”
I met her gaze. “It always starts that way.”
She winced but then recovered. “Just for today. Dinner. Conversation.”
“Right,” I said. Conversation.
Helen cleared her throat. “We’ll coordinate the details later,” she said to Sabrina. “Alex is…”
“Busy,” Sabrina finished, squeezing my arm. “I know. Isn’t he marvelous?”
Busy was one word for it.
I gave Helen a nod and guided Sabrina away from the platform, toward the edge of the lawn where the crowd thinned. Every step felt heavier than it should’ve, like I was walking in the wrong direction.
Sabrina tugged me closer. “So,” she said, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret, “I was thinking we could start with drinks, somewhere private.”
Of course she was.
I nodded once. “We’ll see.”
Her smile faltered, just a hair, but then snapped back into place. “I like a man who takes charge.”
I didn’t respond, because the truth was, I didn’t want to take charge of this. I wanted it over. I wanted my time back. I wanted to undo the last twenty-four hours and stop myself from agreeing to anything involving a microphone, a stage, and my personal dignity.
But mostly, I wanted to stop thinking about New York.
Which was a problem because my eyes kept finding her anyway.
She was pretending not to watch me now, focused on the stage, laughing at something Becca said. But I knew better. I caught her stealing looks at me. And I’d seen the way she watched things when she thought no one noticed, like she was cataloging details and filing them away.
She didn’t look jealous. She looked… excited. Which was worse.
The kiss replayed without my permission. Her hands fisting in my shirt. The way she hadn’t hesitated. The way she’d kissed me like it was something she’d been holding back instead of a mistake.
I’d felt it everywhere.
The way her body had pressed into mine, solid and warm and real. The way my first instinct hadn’t been to slow it down or pull away but to tighten my grip and take control of it. To back her up against the nearest solid surface and forget, briefly, selfishly, about consequences.
I’d wanted to rip her clothes off right there in her den. No finesse. No planning. Just need and heat and the sharp awareness that she wanted it too.
That wasn’t my usual move.
I didn’t lose my head like that. I thought things through. I stayed in my lane. I didn’t cross lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.
Except I had.
I’d kissed her back because I wanted to. Because it felt right in a way that didn’t care about timing or money or the fact that her life was already hanging by a thread. Because for once, I hadn’t thought ahead.
I’d just acted.
That was on me.
And the worst part?
If I had it to do over again, knowing exactly how hard it would make everything after, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t do it anyway.
I dragged my focus back to the present as Sabrina leaned in again. “You okay?” she asked, faux concern coating every syllable.
“Fine,” I said. Not a lie, just incomplete.
Behind us, Helen’s voice boomed back to life over the speakers. “And now, ladies,” she announced, bright and relentless, “let’s keep things moving. Our next bachelor is…”
Cheers exploded. Whistles and applause that felt wildly disproportionate for a guy I hadn’t even seen.
Sabrina leaned in closer. “Sounds like they’re having fun without us.”
Lucky them.
Helen launched into the pitch: job, hobbies, something about woodworking or kayaking or maybe both. I didn’t catch the name. Didn’t give a shit. I knew the rhythm now. Build him up, pause, let the crowd warm up, and start the bidding.
“Five hundred dollars,” Helen called.
“Seven!”
“One thousand!”
The numbers climbed fast, the crowd feeding off itself like this was a competitive sport instead of a fundraiser. I heard the tap of the mic. Another guy sold.
Helen didn’t miss a beat. “And for our fifth bachelor of the afternoon—”
More cheers. Someone screamed like they’d just won something. Someone else laughed too loudly.
The sound of it all pressed in from behind—loud, buoyant, unstoppable. Like the whole town had decided this was the highlight of the year and nothing short of a natural disaster was going to derail it.
Sabrina tugged lightly at my arm. “Ignore it,” she said. “They’ll be done soon enough.”
I nodded, even though ignoring it felt impossible. I wished I could ignore her.
Helen’s voice carried again. “Six hundred to start…”
I stared out at the ocean instead, calm and unbothered. Waves were rolling in like they always did, like no one was being auctioned off for charity fifty feet behind me.
A few more bachelors. Then it would be over.
Then I’d do what I’d agreed to do. I’d finish the day, keep my head down, and walk away without making anything messier than it already was.
Simple. I was good at simple. I just had to remember that.
And I had to remember that I was doing this for the town. For the lighthouse. For scholarships. For anything other than the fact that I’d stood on a stage and let strangers decide my worth in dollar amounts.
I’d agreed to this madness.
We stopped near the low fence overlooking the water. Sabrina leaned against it, all curves and confidence. “So,” she said, tilting her head, “what do you do when you’re not being auctioned off?”
“I work,” I said.
She laughed. “That’s it?”
“That’s most of it.”
“And the rest?”
I hesitated because the rest used to be simple—projects, solitude, control.
Now it had a face.
“I don’t really stay in one place,” I said instead. “I keep things… uncomplicated.”
Her smile sharpened. “I can be uncomplicated.”
I doubted that too.
Across the lawn, New York stood, catching my gaze for a second before turning and speaking animatedly with Becca. She smiled at something, bright and quick, and for a split second I wondered if I’d imagined everything between us.
Except I hadn’t.
She’d felt it too. I’d seen it in her eyes when she pulled back. The same calculation I was making now.
This was a bad idea.
Us.
New York had inherited a mess—a town, an inn bleeding money, and expectations stacked high enough to crush someone less stubborn.
And me? I was a complication she didn’t need.
I’d already crossed a line by undercharging her, by giving her names, by kissing her in her own damn house and making her feel something she didn’t have time for.
I exhaled slowly, letting the salt air ground me.
This was on me to fix.
Sabrina touched my arm again. “You look very intense,” she said. “I can rectify that. I give excellent massages.”
“I’m thinking,” I replied, trying not to recoil from her touch.
“Well,” she smiled, “try not to think too hard. We’ve got a whole afternoon together.”
I glanced back one last time. New York was talking to Lola who’d joined them with her bachelor, the guy with the boat.
Good.
If she’d been looking at me, I might’ve walked over. Or done something stupid. Or convinced myself I could juggle this without anyone dropping.
I turned away from the lawn, from the stage, from the ocean backdrop and the crowd and the woman who had no idea she’d gotten under my skin in a way that mattered.
She didn’t need that.
She didn’t need me complicating things when she was already balancing an inn, a town full of expectations, and a future she was trying to stitch together with grit and caffeine.
She didn’t need someone like me stepping in and making promises I wasn’t sure I could keep.
Or worse, becoming another problem she’d have to clean up later.
I’d seen what happened when people leaned on the wrong thing at the wrong time.
I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
I’d finish this. Do what I’d agreed to. Be polite. Be professional. Keep my hands to myself and my head where it belonged.
Then I’d step back.
Because wanting her was one thing. I could carry that. I could swallow it, file it away, let it burn off like everything else I didn’t act on.
Letting her get hurt because I couldn’t keep my distance?
That wasn’t happening.
Not on my watch.
And if walking away was the price of making sure she stayed standing…
I’d pay it.