Jingle Bell Harbor (A Bell Harbor Novella)

by Tracy Brogan

  He leaned back in the booth and stretched one long arm across the top of the cushion. Sweet baby Jesus, this guy had the wingspan of a Cessna.

  “I never needed a tutor. I just thought you were cute so I used that as an excuse to hang around with you.”

  “Seriously? You did that?” Who would do that?

  “Yeah. Pretty much. It’s sad, right?” He looked thoroughly comfortable with the admission. As if he’d long ago come to terms with his motives and didn’t really think it was sad at all. As if he thought it was actually kind of clever and funny and like he was talking about someone else entirely. And in a way, he was, because there was no trace of the shy, quiet Drew Hampton left in this man sitting across from me wearing the very nice tuxedo.

  In that moment my stomach fluttered with a blizzard of sensations and emotions. I wondered if I needed another shot, or maybe I needed to stop drinking entirely. Probably the latter, but I’d likely go with the former. Blake and Hawaii felt very far away at the moment, but Drew Hampton was right here.

  “So, what do you think of that?” Drew asked, taking a slow drink from his beer.

  What did I think of that? What. What. What. “Um, I’m flattered, I guess. I think it’s adorable, really, but I had no idea. You never once hit on me.”

  He chuckled. “I was trying to play it cool, but I guess my stealth approach to women was a little too effective. No one ever picked up on it. And then you started dating Joe Worthington, and then you were dating Alex Markum, and then it was, I don’t know. Some other guy. I finally stopped paying attention. But I was crazy about you all through the tenth grade.”

  I tried to think back to that time, wondering if there was something I’d missed. But the truth was, I probably wouldn’t have gone out with him then, even if he’d asked. I wasn’t into nice, responsible boys who studied hard and got good grades. I was into the noncommunicative, older jerky boys because they seemed so much more mysterious.

  “All through tenth grade, huh? Well, this is news to me. Besides, I always thought you liked Amanda Davidson.” I took a sip from the watery rum and Coke I’d been nursing for the past half an hour.

  Drew nodded. “Oh, I liked Amanda, too, but I asked her to tutor me once in Spanish and it was a disaster. All she did was put on nail polish while I went through flash cards by myself.”

  I laughed, and any concerns I had that I’d left tragic emotional scars on his psyche lifted away. “So I was just one in a cluster of many? You sly dog, working the ladies.”

  His laugh was self-deprecating. “Sly, sure, but not so successful. I didn’t get laid until college. All the girls around here were too busy chasing after the Connelly brothers.”

  That took me back in time. “Oh, my gosh, the Connelly brothers. Whatever happened to them?”

  Drew’s shoulders rose and fell in quick succession. “One is in the army, I think. Another one married a reality TV star or something and now they have their own show, but Tyler is still in town. He married a plastic surgeon and they have a couple of kids.”

  Well, go figure. Maybe some things in this town did change. The Connelly brothers had grown up, and Drew Hampton had certainly grown up, too. “Married with kids, huh? Wow. I can’t picture it.”

  He gazed at me for a second and those damn decorative twinkle lights added that sparkle to his eyes again. I should suggest our manufacturer put a warning label on the box.

  “Can’t picture it for them or for yourself?” he asked.

  His question caught me off guard. I’d meant them, but maybe the truth was I couldn’t quite picture it for myself, either. At least not with Blake. My fantasy of a moonlit Hawaiian proposal didn’t extend beyond the honeymoon. I’d never really thought about us having a family, but I did want that eventually. The doting husband, the cozy house, me cooking casseroles to serve to our gloriously above-average children.

  A brown-haired, hazel-eyed rug rat popped into my head just then, the image of a pint-sized Junior Hampton bouncing on my knee, and I nearly spilled my drink.

  “Um, them, I guess. Or maybe me? Both? I don’t know. How about you? Can you picture it? For yourself?” I was rambling for some inexplicable reason, but Drew was as calm as a winter snowfall.

  “Sure, I can picture it. At the right time. With the right person.” His gaze was direct. A dare of sorts. Was he hinting I might be the right person? Or thinking I might suggest it? Because even though the conversation had been innocent enough, the undercurrent of sexual tension was there, threaded through all the words we’d said. And all the words we hadn’t.

  “Little Junior Hampton, are you flirting with me?”

  His sudden laughter was rich and warm. It filled the space inside our hideaway booth just as much as his long arms and long legs did. “If you have to ask, then I must not be getting any better at it. But yes, Kelsey Parker, I guess I am flirting with you. Do you mind?”

  I had a boyfriend.

  Kind of.

  Sort of.

  Well, totally.

  I totally had a boyfriend, but my feelings for him were cooling off at a rapid pace because he’d gone to Hawaii without me and left me to care for my poor old broken-hipped grandma without his support. So I was ninety-five percent certain that I should break up with him. That being the case, what was the harm in a little innocent flirting with an old friend from high school?

  “No, Drew. I don’t mind.”

  “There you are!” Fontaine’s voice pierced through the din of holiday music and party chatter as he showed up next to our table. “The auction starts in half an hour, so get out there and shimmy what your momma done gave you.”

  Drew shook his head. “My momma done gave me the good sense to not make a fool of myself, Fontaine. And everyone here already knows me. They’ll either bid or they won’t.”

  Fontaine waggled a slender finger in Drew’s direction. “That’s not how it works tonight, Double Stuff. You need to sell it. Make the ladies want you. Or make the fellas want you, I don’t care. Maybe I’ll bid on you myself. But the deal was, you are up for sale and you need to go market yourself. It’s for a good cause, remember? It’s for the children.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. For the children,” Drew said. He looked at me, sincerity all over his face. “Please don’t leave me to Trina Bartholomew. Remember, Kelsey. Do it for the children.”

  For the children indeed.

  Drew eased his way out of the booth and moved into the crowd, although he was still easy to spot, being a head taller than nearly everyone else. Fontaine watched him go and then turned back to me with his hands on his hips. “That’s a fine-looking man in a fine-looking tux.”

  I nodded slowly, watching as well. “Yes, I’m inclined to agree.”

  “Uh-huh. Do you know what his tuxedo is made out of?” Fontaine’s tone was as dry as winter air.

  I shook my head. “No. What?”

  “Husband material. I hope you brought your wallet.”

  Drew

  The truth is, I’m a boob man. That might not be the most politically correct thing to admit, but there it is. And there were Kelsey Parker’s magnificent breasts nearly resting on the table across from me, well within my reach. Society frowns on men who grope women in bars, of course. It’s a good rule. I can abide by it. And in my own defense, I’m not a caveman. I’ve never felt the urge to reach across a booth and give any woman a hearty squeeze, but damn. I have been thinking about her breasts since I was fourteen years old. I’d nearly had them in my hands once during a game of spin the bottle, but I chickened out. Biggest regret of my young life, because the opportunity never presented itself again. I’d even sat through hours of useless science tutoring trying to figure out how to work that to my advantage, but no luck.

  Now here she was, back in Bell Harbor for a few weeks, and judging from what I’d overheard at the Christmas tree lot, she was on the ropes with some idiot boyfriend. A chance like this might not come along again, so I needed to make the most of it. Because the truth i
s, every guy carries around the memory of a girl deep down in a secret pocket of his mind.

  The Girl.

  The girl he hopes will turn him into a man. For me, that girl was always Kelsey Parker. It wasn’t just her breasts, though. Well, it might have been back in high school, but I wasn’t a kid anymore. I had grown up. I’d evolved. I’d had some very nice relationships over the years. A couple of them had been pretty serious, but tonight, joking around with her and listening to her laugh? Damn. Every stocked-up hormone, every latent adolescent fantasy had come back full force. She was stunning, with wavy brunette hair and big brown eyes, so dark they were nearly black. Black and full of invitation. But what the hell was I going to do about it? That was the real question.

  Chapter 3

  “CHEAP SHOTS, PEOPLES! LAST CALL to get your cheap shots!” Fontaine was in his element as master of ceremonies. He was as much a comedian as he was an organizer, and he’d whipped the audience into quite a jolly frenzy of anticipation. The bar had gotten crowded as the evening progressed, with the ratio of women to men heavily lopsided. Clearly the girls’-night-out groups had heard about the bachelor auction, and the holiday-themed drinks put everyone in a festive, feisty mood. By the time the auction started, it was downright rowdy inside Jasper’s Pub.

  Fontaine kept the hormonal momentum building, and as the bidding progressed, ladies grew more aggressive, more determined to win, if only for the sake of winning. Mikey Pinkerton, Bell Harbor’s long-widowed sheriff, had gone for seventy-five dollars. Not bad for an old guy with a beer belly and two fingertips missing due to an unfortunate weapons discharge. Jimmy Novak, a local accountant rarely seen without his rumpled trench coat regardless of the weather, brought in nearly a hundred.

  “A portion of that is tax deductible, you know,” Jimmy told his winning bidder as she paid her fee and pulled him from the stage.

  The next two bachelors, both young and good-looking with a full posse of females in their corners, went for one hundred and fifty each. Clearly, if I was going to save Drew from one of these man-hungry, charity-loving ladies, it was going to cost me. I saw broad-shouldered Trina Bartholomew elbowing her way closer to the front of the crowd. Years of playing women’s hockey had taught her how a subtle but well-timed body check could work to her advantage. I leaned against the bar, glad to be out of her path. For now.

  Catcalls and woot-woots filled the air as, at last, Drew took his place on stage. He ran a finger around the inside of his collar as Fontaine handed him a red envelope. Drew glanced out into the crowd, then with a little shake of his head, he opened the envelope and pulled out a white card, just as all the other bachelors had done before him.

  He cleared his throat and read aloud, haltingly but with a smile. “Bid on me and you will experience an evening of heavenly bodies and celestial motion at the Fountain Park Planetarium. Dine under the stars and watch the world go by during a Christmas-themed laser light show. Gourmet picnic dinner provided by local chef Jasper Baker.”

  That didn’t sound so bad. At least it wasn’t Applebee’s, and quite honestly, a visit to the planetarium sounded kind of fun. I hadn’t been there since I was a kid. Unfortunately, judging from the sudden and blatant swell of estrogen in the crowd, I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Yes, this was definitely going to cost me.

  “Excellent. Excellent.” Fontaine tugged on Drew’s elbow so he was standing closer to center stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you a little bit about the next eligible bachelor up for bid in our Big Boys for Kids’ Toys auction,” Fontaine called out over the murmuring crowd. “Drew Hampton was born and raised right here in our wonderful town. He is thirty years old, has a master’s degree in education, coaches basketball, and teaches science at Bell Harbor High School. I bet he can teach you a thing or two about anatomy and biology.” Fontaine offered up an exaggerated wink to the crowd before continuing. “Drew likes long, romantic walks on the beach, hiking, kayaking, karaoke, and making crystal meth in his basement laboratory. Just kidding. He doesn’t like karaoke.”

  Everyone laughed, Drew along with them, but I could tell he was nervous by the way he was clenching and unclenching his fists. And who wouldn’t be, standing up there with everyone staring?

  “Fifty dollars!” Trina called out before the laughter had even waned.

  Well, shit. She did mean business.

  “Fifty-five!” Reilly Peters jabbed her hand up in the air.

  “Sixty!” Trina volleyed back.

  And so it went, the two of them raising the stakes higher and faster. Other women joined in, and Drew looked around, surveying the mass of people. I stepped away from the bar, toward the throng of eager ladies.

  Someone shouted, “Eighty-five!”

  There was no sense in me jumping in until I’d seen how high they were going to take this. I’d only be egging them on, and at this point, I already knew I could kiss Grandma’s one hundred dollars good-bye. Drew was a bargain, but he wasn’t going to go cheap.

  “Ninety dollars!” Dody Baker stood up in her chair with the fringed edge of her tree skirt swaying around her knees.

  “Mom, you can’t bid,” Fontaine shouted at her from the stage and flapped his hands in her direction. “Sit down.”

  “Why can’t I bid? I want to go to the planetarium.” Her fists went to her hips and the chair teetered precariously. Any second now she was going to topple over and end up with a broken hip, just like my grandma. I could just picture them at physical therapy together, having wheelchair races and tormenting their health care workers.

  Fontaine leaned forward, shouting louder. “You can’t bid because you’re hosting this event. I’ll take you to the planetarium next week. Now sit down and let us finish the auction.”

  She climbed off the chair and sat down with a thump and a frown. Drew covered his face with both hands for a second, but when he took them away, he was smiling.

  “Ninety-five dollars,” Trina said, elbowing her way another step closer to the stage.

  “One hundred.” Reilly’s hand shot up again.

  Drew’s smile dimmed, just a bit. He was putting on a good show, but I could see the wariness building. Reilly Peters was no better than Trina Bartholomew. In fact, she might be worse. She was gorgeous but had a piranha factor that few men found appealing.

  Trina gave Reilly a dirty look. This could get ugly. I was about to fling myself into the middle of a cockfight. Over a . . . well, never mind. Time to go big or go home.

  “One hundred and fifty dollars,” I said. All the eyes in the room swung around and landed on me. I could feel the weight of it. I’d surprised everyone. Good. I stood up tall, all five feet four inches of me, and straightened my shoulders. I could take them. I could take on both Trina and Reilly and anyone else who wanted a piece. They weren’t that scary. I saw Drew visibly relax, glad I’d finally gotten in the game, and felt the thrill of victory. I could outbid them. All that money I wasn’t spending on mai tais in Hawaii right now could go toward this fine cause. It was for the children, after all. It didn’t have anything to do with just how fine Drew Hampton looked in that tux.

  “One hundred and sixty,” Trina said, glaring at me.

  The other bidders fell silent. Even Reilly shook her head, letting her hand drop.

  “Two hundred,” I said calmly. I wasn’t going to lose. I knew how to close a deal. The room had quieted enough that I didn’t even have to shout.

  Trina’s lips pursed, more than usual. Her eyes narrowed, more than usual. I could sense her mentally calculating her budget and coming up short. She glowered at me for another few seconds, then she shook her head. “I’m out.”

  Cheers erupted, and I looked at Drew, feeling a little sassy and pleased with myself. He just looked relieved.

  “Two hundred and ten. Do I hear two hundred and ten?” Fontaine called out, doing his job as auctioneer. “Two hundred and ten?”

  No takers, though, thank goodness. I would have gone higher if nece
ssary, but I was pretty glad to stop. I wasn’t really going to use up Grandma’s money. Or Drew’s fifty dollars, either. This was coming out of my pocket, so two hundred seemed like plenty.

  “Going once, going twice . . . and sold to Kelsey Parker.” Fontaine jingled a silver bell, signaling this round was over.

  Laughter and chatter grew louder as I made my way to the stage and handed my debit card to Fontaine. He swiped it through a little plastic square attached to his iPhone. Ah, modern technology. Where you can buy a date and pay for him in less than sixty seconds without even leaving the bar.

  “Well played, Kitty Cat,” Fontaine said quietly in my ear as he handed back my card. “Here’s hoping you get your stocking stuffed. Tiny Tim, he ain’t.”

  My gasp of laughter was barely contained.

  Drew crossed the stage and jumped down next to me as the crowd started to catcall the next bachelor. Our dramatic time in the spotlight had ended.

  “Thanks,” he said. “That was very generous of you. But what took you so long? I thought you were going to leave me to the jackals.”

  “I was just sizing up the competition. I knew what I was doing.”

  “Apparently so. Looks like I owe you more than fifty bucks.”

  “Keep your money. This is for the children.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Of course. For the children. But like I said before, I’ll make it worth your while. Want to start right now? One more drink?”

  I did want to start right now, and I did want one more drink, but mostly, I wanted out of my too-tight dress. I hadn’t drawn a full breath all evening, my high-heeled boots were starting to pinch my feet, the noise in the bar was getting deafening, and I needed to get home to check on Grandma. All that came in a very distant second, however, to the tiny little matter of me technically having a boyfriend, and if I spent more time with Drew tonight, there was just no telling what would happen. Well . . . that’s not exactly true. I knew what I wanted to happen, which is precisely why I needed to go home.