Chapter 16 #2
“You deserve dates like this, Sawyer. You deserve better dates than this. I wanted to show you it’s about the fun, the little things… not the fancy steak, not the money. You can do better than your ex. And you will.”
I take a deep breath, letting the moment sink in. “Well, You were right about one thing. This… has been one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.”
He gives me that lazy half-smile, the one that shouldn’t get to me—but it does.
I ease back against him, letting the slow swing of the ride gently rock us.
The lights below blur into gold and pink, music drifting through the air like something meant just for us.
I can feel the steady warmth of him at my side—his shoulder, his thigh, his breath—and it’s messing with me.
I never pictured myself here, with him of all people, and maybe that’s why it hits harder. I shouldn’t be this comfortable. I shouldn’t like how safe and dangerous it feels at the same time. But I do. God help me, I do.
And maybe that’s why it stings a little, knowing the second my shoes hit the ground, this bubble—this stolen, perfect moment—will pop like it was never real in the first place.
The ride eases to a stop, the lights of the fair still glittering in my eyes as we step off. For a second, I’m floating, like the world’s still tilted under me
But then I spot Honey. She’s standing a little ways off, pacing, chewing at her nail. My chest tightens.
“Honey looks stressed,” I murmur, already half-turned toward her. “I think I need to go check on her. You go ahead, I’ll get a ride back with her.”
He nods. “You sure you don’t want me to wait?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ll be fine.”
I take a few steps toward Honey, but something makes me stop. I turn back. “Hey, Trouble?”
He looks down at me, that unreadable expression softening just enough.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it more than he probably realizes.
He tips his hat, slow and easy. “Anytime, Sawyer.”
And just like that, the moment is gone.
“You okay?” I ask Honey, who squeezes me tight once she sees me.
“You just answered my prayers. Thank god you’re here. I need a favor,” she says urgently, tugging me with her. I stumble after her, nearly tripping over my own feet as she hurries through the crowd.
“Uh—okay?” I manage, confused, trying to keep up.
“Milo’s about to bid in the kissing auction,” she blurts, eyes wide, words flying. “He wins it every year. I have to do this, and I definitely can’t do this alone.”
We weave between lawn chairs and couples holding lemonade, her grip on me like iron.
“What are you even—?”
“I already talked the girls running it into letting me be in it. I was panicking, hoping someone I knew would do this with me. And here you are. So it’s happening.”
I blink. “You what?”
Honey stops just long enough to look at me, her eyes pleading. “Please. I need you. Just one kiss. It’ll be over before you know it… and it’s going to a good cause.”
And suddenly, my heart is racing for an entirely different reason.
“Honey, you can’t be serious.”
"Please," she murmurs. "My heart can’t take seeing Milo kiss another girl. And this is the perfect time to show him what he's missing. He's already standing in line one, so I'll take chair one. You... you take the chair in line two."
"And who on earth is going to kiss me?"
A flutter of nervous anticipation flickers through my chest as I stand, feeling the eyes of the festival crowd on us. The sun dips lower in the sky, streaking the horizon with hues of fiery orange and dusky pink, adding even more drama to this nightmare.
"Just come on," she insists. "It’ll be whoever bids the most money... I think I saw a few cute men standing around line two."
I hesitate, squinting toward the crowd, but the faces blur into shadows.
Still, something in me—the reckless part that likes not knowing what comes next—leans in.
The energy crackles around us, the crowd buzzing louder by the second.
It’s chaotic, electric, terrifying. And somehow, I’m caught in the middle of it, heartbeat bouncing off the walls of my ears like I’m already in too deep.
“I cannot believe I’m actually doing this.”
“It’ll be over in like, ten seconds,” Honey whispers, squeezing my hands. “And good cause, remember?”
“Honey,” I say, dragging her name out with a dramatic sigh. “You owe me so hard for this. Like—lifetime-supply-of-tequila-sunrises level.”
“Anything you want,” she squeals.
I roll my eyes, but it’s mostly for show. Because somehow, against all logic, I’m doing this anyway.
"You’re over there," she says, as she points to the second chair. She plops herself into the first with confidence as I wearily take a seat.
“Okay. Now what?” I ask, looking around.
No one answers right away—until a woman steps forward, holding a blindfold. Black satin. Soft and slightly ominous.
“Wait—why do we have to be blindfolded?”
She grins, easy and knowing. “Adds to the mystery, sugar.”
The last thing I catch is Honey’s face—half guilt, half not-actually-sorry—and then it’s just me and the darkness.
I clutch the little stuffed horse in my hands, fingers digging into the soft fabric, and for a fleeting second I almost want to cover its eyes.
It doesn’t need to see what’s about to happen.
With my sight gone, everything else sharpens.
The rustle of clothing, distant laughter, the hush of voices just out of reach—it all rushes in.
I focus on the sensation of the breeze, how it flirts with loose strands of my hair.
Being blindfolded feels wild and weightless—like stepping off a cliff and realizing, somehow, you’re not falling. You’re flying.
"It's all part of the tradition, hunny," the lady adds, as she double checks my blindfold and stays close enough that I can feel the warmth of her. "Just picture your prince charming. Trust me, it helps."
Picture my prince charming? The thought is almost laughable. My prince charming would never be here in this town. Not a chance.
The murmur of anticipation swells around me before a voice booms through, announcing the start of the Blind Date Kiss Auction.
"Where the stakes are high," he draws out, "the kisses are blind, and your hearts?
Well… good luck with those." My fingers squeeze the horse tighter, trying to brace myself for this.
"We will start with the blind date in seat number one, Honey. Best bartender in town." The crowd erupts into a frenzy of cheers and whoops. I imagine her sitting there, probably throwing her head back in laughter.
The auctioneer’s voice rumbles louder. “Starting this bid at fifty dollars.”
I try to breathe, but every number that follows feels like a punch to the chest. One hundred. Two hundred. Three-fifty. Four hundred.
I’m happy for Honey, and they're just numbers—but right now, they sound like a verdict. Each bid climbing higher like a spotlight, asking a question I didn't realize until just now: What am I worth?
Behind the blindfold, the darkness presses in tighter. My heart's hammering in my ears, and a sick little thought slips through the cracks—what if no one bids for me? What if the auctioneer pauses… and no one says a word?
What if the silence is deafening?
That possibility twists in my stomach like a blade. I can practically feel it—the awkward shuffle, the forced laughter, the pity glances I wouldn’t even be able to see. Just feel. And God, the embarrassment would live in my bones forever.
The word "sold" slices through my haze of panic. "And we have a winner, going to the gentleman for $500. Come claim your blind kiss prize."
Applause erupts, jolting me back to the moment. I imagine Honey's victory, her lips meeting Milo's, and I feel both relief and envy. Relief that she got what she wanted, and envy because my fate still hangs in the balance.
"Now let’s get started with blind kiss number two," he announces, and I can almost feel the crowd leaning in. "She's here straight from the city, boys."
I draw a breath, and each second stretches, my thoughts a carousel of wild horses galloping faster and faster.
"Do I have $50?" the auctioneer asks, and it’s silent.
"I have $50," he finally says, and relief pries at the edges of my anxiety. There's interest—a small victory, but it's something. A pulse beats in my fingertips as it continues—sixty, seventy, and climbing.
Then suddenly, the world narrows, fading away until all I'm left with is my thoughts behind my blindfold and the white noise of my own panic. I'm floating in nothingness until I hear his last words echo in my mind.
“One thousand dollars to the gentleman in the back."
I jolt, the words detonating in the air, slamming through my chest. A grand? For a kiss? Did he really just say one thousand? Someone thinks I'm worth that?
The crowd goes weirdly quiet, like they’re just as shocked as I am.
I sit up straight, straining to hear something—a laugh, a gasp, a just kidding from the crowd—but all I get is silence thick enough to chew on.
My heart’s doing cardio in my chest, thumping out a rhythm that sounds suspiciously like, Who the hell just dropped that kind of cash on you?
The woman told me to picture prince charming. Sure. Great idea. Except my brain’s too busy short-circuiting to summon a single smoldering gaze or perfectly tousled haircut. Nope—just a faceless blob of mystery and the why me thoughts.
And then I hear it.
Boots. Crunching against dirt. Getting closer.
Oh God. Here we go.
They stop right in front of me, and I barely have time to think before a warm hand brushes a loose strand of hair away from my temple. The contact is simple—but it shoots straight down my spine like lightning. His fingers are rough, maybe a little unsure as they tilt my chin up.
And then his lips find mine.
And holy fucking shit.
The kiss is nothing like I expected. It’s not awkward or rushed. It’s steady. Intentional. It crashes through my nerves like it knows exactly what it’s doing. Like this person has done this a thousand times—with me. But he hasn’t.
Every thought I had—every fear, every awkward what-if—just disappears. Gone. Poof.
All that exists is someone on the other side of the darkness.
This kiss. And the deeply crushing certainty that I’ll never be the same after it.
His lips are softer than I expected, especially from a man with calloused hands, but the way he holds me—firm, steady, like he knows exactly how strong he is—undoes me.
There’s sweetness in his breath, danger in the power he’s holding back, and a craving I can’t shake.
I inhale deeply, and there it is—a familiar scent.
It's almost like a masculine rainforest shower. I can’t place it, but it feels like something I should know.
Something that fits, even if I don’t know why.
For one reckless heartbeat, I want to lean in more, to let this stranger lift me out of this chair so we can continue exploring this.
But just as quickly as it started, he’s gone, and the loss is almost enough to break me.
Applause erupts around us, and I picture some cowboy bowing to the audience. I mean, I almost clap for him. Harrison never kissed me that way, he could never stir such a reaction—no one has actually. Until now.
My fingers brush my lips, like I can still feel where he was. Was that real?
"Alright, sugar," the woman's voice returns, a hint of mischief in her tone. The blindfold lifts, light floods my vision, and suddenly the world is real again. The auction continues, highlighting the next prize.
I’m wrecked, standing frozen while the whole fair keeps buzzing around me like nothing happened. My lips are still on fire, my head is spinning, and I can’t stop scanning the crowd hoping I’ll catch him slipping away. But he’s gone. Just… gone.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping it was Trouble. God, I want it to be him. But I know he’s gone. I know what he said—that he wouldn’t kiss me. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because of Knox.
So why does it feel like it was him anyway? Like my whole body already decided it was Trouble before my brain could catch up? Like every nerve is screaming his name?
That kiss wasn’t just a kiss. It was something else—something reckless and dangerous and way too real. A warning. A promise. Maybe both.
And now I’m standing here with my lips still burning, my mind trying its best to make sense of what just happened.