he was about to make his modeling debut, and it was a paid engagement.
He joined the group of his uncommon associates, most of whom he knew at least by sight, if not by name, behind the gazebo. Not a one of them looked half as nervous as he felt.
Constance was fretting about, consulting the clipboard in her hand and lining the men up elbow to elbow, then changing the order with a shake of her head; adjusting a shirt collar here, straightening a lock of hair there, mumbling under her breath all the while.
“Nervous?” he asked the man standing next to him, a young carpenter named Buck something-or-other who had done some work at the clinic.
“Hmm? Naw. Been doing this for years. Or at least, every other year.” Buck laughed at his own joke.
“No big deal, huh?”
Buck shrugged. “Guess it all depends on who bids on your chocolate.”
Kyle chuckled dryly, then coughed as it stuck in his throat. “I was afraid of that.”
Buck pounded him on the back and roared with laughter. “If you could see your face, man. I’m just kidding around with you.”
Kyle wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t say so. There wasn’t time. Constance was checking everyone’s chocolate. Some of the men had brought big, frilly heart boxes full of chocolates or truffles, and Kyle wondered if he’d made a mistake in his choice of a single chocolate rose.
Kyle was third in line, and listened with interest as the crowd, which sounded mostly feminine, got warmed up. What started as mild cheering and clapping soon became whooping and hollering, and it sounded like the men on the block were egging it on.
So much for small-town and dignified. He was going to end up looking like a fool in front of all those women. He couldn’t do this.
He wished for the millionth time that Gracie was here with him. At least she’d have something silly to say that would make him smile, make him forget about this ironic mix of comedy and tragedy.
He heard his name announced and stepped forward before he lost his nerve. He guessed he wasn’t completely surprised to find they’d built an actual block in front of the gazebo, to showcase the men and their chocolates. Three stairs led up to the platform, and Kyle reluctantly climbed to the top.
The view would have been intimidating to a total extrovert, which he wasn’t. While there were a fair share of men in the crowd, he was certain every single woman in the town was present for the auction.
Every woman except one. The only face he really wanted to see in the crowd.
Gracie Adams.
He was going to have to do this without her he realized yet again, and his disappointment that she still wasn’t here to support him was surprisingly sharp and bitter.
He scanned the crowd, wordless and unmoving. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to make a speech or flex his muscles, so instead he just lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers in an awkward, simple wave to the crowd.
The women on the green immediately exploded with applause.
He cracked a grin.
“I bid fifty dollars,” came a high-pitched, squeaky voice from the front row. “Move over, ladies, because that man is mine.”
Kyle barely restrained himself from cringing and hopping right off the block. Actually, he wanted to run for his life.
The voice belonged to Chelsea. He nonchalantly grit his teeth and coached himself to remain on the block. For the sake of charity, he was going to be a gentleman, no matter what kind of sacrifice he was called on to make.
People oohed and aahed at the high starting bid, but there was even more surprise when an elderly woman in the back promptly followed with an animated, “Seventy-five dollars.”
Chelsea’s face turned a hearty shade of pink. She crossed her arms, shifted from foot to foot, and looked genuinely miserable for a good moment before she called out, “One hundred dollars!”
She sounded none too happy about having to name such a high figure. It was obvious she’d intended to win his chocolate and his time on the strength of her opening bid alone.
With the purplish look on Chelsea’s face, Kyle thought he might be close to causing a riot, just by his being on the block.
He grinned in earnest. This might be fun.
After the first minute or two of being gawked at and fussed over by a large crowd of women, he began to lose the self-consciousness that had first held him back.
As the bidding continued to rise in twenty-five dollar increments, he found himself playing to the crowd. He was having fun. The women were clearly enjoying themselves. And the bids were going up, up, up.
From the look on Constance’s face, Kyle was pretty sure bids usually didn’t top three hundred dollars, and they were almost up to five. As crazy as Kyle thought the whole idea was, the Mercy Fund was really going to benefit, and a lot of poor people would be able to get medical attention.
It was only a moment later when Kyle sensed a sudden shift in the atmosphere, a marked tension crackling through the air that changed everything.
The bidding had wound down to three determined women—a couple of feisty senior citizens Kyle thought must be bidding away their social security checks and Chelsea Daniels. His determination to be a gentleman weakened as Chelsea acted less and less like a lady.
His preening and primping turned to hemming and hawing. He reached for the end of his tie, giving it a firm yank. Anything to relieve the sudden pressure he was feeling around his neck.
He realized too late that his gesture had the unintended effect of egging his admirers on. He’d not considered what loosening his tie would suggest to the innocent—or not so innocent—onlookers, both those bidding and those simply cheering him on.
Heat rushed to his face. He was making a muddle of this. Things were going downhill so fast it was almost a landslide.
Could it possibly get any worse?
Gracie shifted, carefully adjusting her perch on a thick branch in a sturdy oak tree at the edge of the green, straining forward to get a better vantage point of what was going on.
Specifically, she wanted to see Kyle squirm on the bachelor’s block.
She was late getting to the picnic because she’d been helping out an indigent family on the dock who’d called her when they’d had a minor medical emergency. She couldn’t—and wouldn’t—turn this family down, but she hoped she had not missed the spectacle she was sure would occur when the good doctor made his debut.
She’d relied on an old childhood trick, one she had learned when she was six years old and which had stood her in good stead over the years—shimmying up a convenient tree to get a better lay of the land.
Her mother had called it tomboyish and unladylike. She’d always thought it rather practical, herself. And now was certainly no exception. She wasn’t going to be able to get a glimpse of the gazebo any other way.
After
