The Valentine’s Day Disaster

by Lori Wilde

  “With my hands,” Jana deadpanned.

  “You never did tell me how come you were out in the middle of the night in the aftermath of a tornado,” Sesty said.

  Jana feigned bewilderment. “I didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Um . . . I might have taken advantage of Todd’s attraction to me.”

  “Todd, the stage manager?”

  A smug smile yanked up the corners of Jana’s lips. “Now don’t get me wrong. I didn’t trade sexual favors in exchange for him ironing out the union wrinkles. Rather, we decided to explore the chemistry after he proved so helpful.”

  “And?”

  “Not a love match, but . . .” Jana wobbled her head from side to side. “I’d go back again, although maybe not during a tornado. Although who knows? Maybe the threat of being blown away at any minute was what made the sex so hot.”

  That startled Sesty. Could the storm have been the thing that made her connection with Josh so powerful? It was something a sensible woman would take into consideration.

  Jana reached across the table to flitch a strip of bacon off Sesty’s plate. “Do you mind? I’m starving.”

  “I thought you were vegan.”

  “Sometimes. Most of the time. When I didn’t almost die in a flash flood. I woke up this morning thinking, ‘Life is short. I need bacon.’ So here I am.”

  Sesty folded her hands in her lap. “Then how come you didn’t order your own bacon?”

  “What?” Jana crunched the bacon, made a blissful face. “And look like a hypocrite? I’m still a vegan, this is just a near-­death-­experience thing.”

  Sesty rubbed a palm over her upper arm. “I get you leaving the hospital, but what are you doing running around town? You should be home recovering.”

  “I’m fine, and you’re going to need help wrangling this auction. If we get anywhere near the number of ­people who’ve told me they’re coming, it’ll be standing room only. Gotta remember to double-­check the auditorium’s fire code occupancy rate.”

  “Three hundred and sixteen.”

  Jana’s eyes widened. “Damn, you know your stuff, girlfriend.”

  “As much as I appreciate the thought, please eat your breakfast, and then go home to bed,” Sesty said.

  “Not gonna happen.” Jana made a noise of appreciation when the waitress brought the Belgium waffles she’d ordered and reached for the blueberry syrup sitting tableside.

  Sesty blew out her breath so forcefully her bangs ruffled. “You’re as stubborn as Josh.”

  “That guy . . .” Jana raised an index finger on the hand she was using to douse her waffle with syrup. “Now he’s a keeper and my hero. If you don’t want him, toss him my way.”

  Sesty’s stomach contracted and her chest flared so hot that she had to slip out of her jacket. “The question isn’t whether I want him, but if he wants me.”

  “Oh, he wants you.” Jana’s dreadlocks shook in agreement. “I’ve seen the way that man looks at you.”

  “Me and a million other fan girls.”

  “Don’t give me that. You mean something to him.”

  Oh yeah? Then why did he throw me out of the hospital last night? “Apparently not enough,” she mumbled.

  Jana cocked her head. “What happened?”

  “Let’s not talk about him. If you’re really determined to work today, let’s talk about the auction.”

  “Are you going to eat the rest of your bacon?” Jana asked.

  “Be my guest.” Sesty waved at her plate, but then looking at the bacon made her think of Josh again and thinking of Josh made her feel possessive. “No, I changed my mind, give it back.”

  Jana deposited the bacon back on Sesty’s plate, dusted her hands together and muttered, “Stingy.”

  “Backsliding vegan.”

  “He hurt you, didn’t he?” Jana asked softly.

  “Chad?” Sesty shook her head.

  “You know I’m talking about Josh.”

  Sesty bit down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

  Jana put her hand on Sesty’s. “He’s just your rebound from Chad. You’ll be over him in no time.”

  Sesty met Jana’s eyes. “How I wish that were the case, but the truth is, every man I’ve ever been with was a rebound from Josh. I’ve loved him since I was seventeen years old and I probably always will.”

  “Don’t give up, there’s always hope.”

  Hope. Yes, well, wasn’t that what had gotten her into this situation in the first place?

  TEN MINUTES BEFORE the bachelor auction started, three hundred sixteen women packed into the auditorium of the Twilight Conference Center—­head count courtesy of Matt Clipper, one of the burly firemen who’d pulled Jana and Josh from the water the night before. It was indeed standing room only.

  Sesty was in full event planner mode. With her tablet computer tucked under her arm, she surveyed the bachelors lined up backstage—­everyone was present and accounted for and in costume except for Josh. He hadn’t shown up after all.

  She told herself that it was okay. That he’d smartly taken her advice and decided to stay home and rest. She’d just step up to the microphone and inform the audience of his accident. The auction would go off without him. It wouldn’t be perfect, but there was only so much she could control.

  And who knew? Maybe Jana was right. Maybe there was hope.

  But she wasn’t about to do any breath holding.

  Sesty surveyed the men arranged in front of her, gave them last minute coaching on how to enter and exit the stage. She adjusted costumes, reminded them to smile, and then she knew she could delay no longer. It was time to get started.

  She’d turned to the front of the auditorium to address the audience when the stage door opened. Josh appeared in the doorway wearing a cumbersome brace that went from his right ankle to his thigh, and he used crutches to propel forward.

  Her heart clutched, stuttered. She rushed to hold the door open for him. Too nervous to look directly in his face, she stared at his hands, wrapped around the crutches.

  “Didja give up on me?” he asked.

  Her gaze moved up his forearms, clad in his NASCAR jacket, to the muscular bare chest beneath. Her lips burned. Last night her mouth had been all over that chest. He’d come looking the part. Even in a brace and crushes he was going to drive the women wild.

  He drove her wild.

  “No, I know you would come,” she lied breathlessly.

  “They had some trouble fitting me with the brace,” he said. “Or I would have been here sooner.”

  At last she gathered the courage to look him in the face. The teasing light in his eyes had hope flaring inside her. Maybe . . . maybe . . .

  “I’ve got to go get this thing started,” she said. “Have a seat backstage. You’re on last and you promised Dr. Singh you wouldn’t be on your feet longer than ten minutes.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.” He gave a jaunty salute.

  Skin tingling, head dizzy, Sesty stepped around the curtain and onto the stage. She stared out at the sea of women and for one moment a wave of stage fright rushed over her. Breathe.

  She stepped to the microphone and in a daze started her speech. She must have done all right because after she finished talking about Holly’s House, the room burst into hearty applause. She turned the proceedings over to the auctioneer, stepped out of the limelight and headed back behind the scenes, where she felt most comfortable.

  Stepping off the stage, she noticed something going on at the front door. As discreetly as possible, she scurried toward the front. The fireman stood at the open door between the lobby and the auditorium, blocking the way. His arms were folded over his chest and he was shaking his head at a woman. All Sesty could see of her was blond hair.

  “You have to let me in,” she heard the woman say
as she approached. “My fiancé is one of the bachelors and I need to bid on him before some bitch gets her claws into him.”

  “Sorry, lady. Fire code. No one else is getting in until someone leaves.”

  The blonde’s voice grew strident. “Do you have any idea who I am?

  Sesty skirted around to the fireman’s side. She’d never met the blonde but had seen pictures of her in magazines and on TV.

  Miley Hunter.

  And she was a hundred times more beautiful in person than in commercials. Miley possessed creamy flawless skin, a curvy but trim figure, mile long legs, and Angelina Jolie lips. She was, in a word, everything that Sesty was not.

  Perfect.

  Obviously, the woman was here to win Josh back.

  Sesty’s gaze dropped to the ring finger of Miley’s hand. A three-­caret, marquee-­cut diamond sparkled there. All hope fled. If this woman wanted Josh back, she would get her way. Then an even worse thought occurred to her. What if Josh had called her and asked her to come to the auction? What if he wanted her there?

  Oh God, she might just throw up.

  “What’s going on, Matt?” Sesty forced a smile and touched Matt’s shoulder.

  “Are you in charge?” Miley asked.

  “I am.”

  “Will you please tell the incredible hulk here that I must get in? My fiancé is one of the bachelors—­”

  “Yes,” Sesty said. “I heard you, but we’re full to capacity.”

  Miley’s eyes turned mean. “Until someone leaves. Make someone leave so I can come in.”

  Sesty had to bite her tongue to keep from telling the woman what a spoiled brat she was, but Miley was already causing enough of a scene. Heads were turning, women taking their attention off Ian, who was on the auction block. For the sake of Holly’s House and the wonderful work they did there, she had to smooth this over.

  “But of course,” Sesty said. “I’ll leave and you can come in, but let me forewarn you, there’s no place to sit.” She ducked under Matt’s arm and stepped into the lobby.

  “Shows how little you know me.” Miley tossed her head and marched into the auditorium.

  Sesty watched her go up to a woman on the back row and hand her a hundred dollar bill in exchange for her seat.

  Dammit.

  “That one’s a brat,” Matt said. “I don’t care how beautiful she is. Pretty is as pretty does.”

  “She’s used to getting her way.”

  “So why did you give in to her?” Matt asked.

  “For the good of the event.”

  “Is she really Josh Langtree’s fiancé?”

  “She was until she cheated on him. I guess she’s trying to win him back.”

  “Whew.” Matt blew out his breath. “He’s got a firebrand on his hands with that one.”

  Firebrand.

  Something she definitely was not.

  Sesty stood in the lobby, observing the auction. More than anything, she wanted to get the hell out of here, but she was in charge. She’d see this through to the end.

  It took an entire hour to get to the last bachelor. Number twelve.

  Josh.

  Hardly anyone had left the building. They’d come to see—­and bid on—­their homegrown NASCAR star. As she watched the women go into a bidding frenzy over the man she loved, it occurred to Sesty that she never stood a chance with Josh. He was too talented, too accomplished, just too damn hot for one woman.

  She was out of her league and she knew it, as she’d known it at seventeen. Nothing had changed. He was still big-­time and she was still small town.

  This was the real reason she had let him go. Not because he was a daredevil. Not because her parents disapproved of him. But because she was scared she wouldn’t measure up.

  Fear.

  That’s what had been holding her back. Fear of loss, rejection, heartbreak. So she’d broken up with him before he’d broken up with her.

  When Miley won the bidding, it was no surprise. She had the looks to intimidate the other women and the money to outbid them. What did surprise Sesty was that Miley was willing to yell out, “Twenty-­five thousand dollars!” when the previous bid had only been seven thousand.

  That ended the auction on the spot, and the auctioneer called for Sesty to come back up onstage.

  Matt pushed her forward and she walked up the aisle to thunderous applause. When Jana announced that they’d raised a total of forty-­two thousand dollars, the crowd was on their feet by the time Sesty reached the stage.

  A standing ovation.

  For her.

  It should have been a great moment. She’d achieved her goal. Done what she set out to do. Put together a perfect bachelor auction and funded the coffers of Holly’s House so they could assist needy families get health care. Her event helped bring tourists into town, fill rooms at the B&Bs, and brought business to the restaurants and shops.

  She should have been over-­the-­moon happy.

  But in her peripheral vision, from where she was standing on stage, a plastic smile on her face, she could see Josh and Miley, who had her arms twined around his neck. Josh had his arms around Miley’s waist and they were kissing as if it was the end of the world.

  And that’s exactly what it felt like to Sesty.

  The end of the world.

  Chapter Ten

  SESTY WISHED SHE could flee the scene. Run home. Curl up in her bed and bawl her eyes out for being so stupid as to believe she could have a casual fling with Josh and it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the butt.

  How naïve she’d been for daring to hope.

  But she had a job to finish and she could nurse her hurt later with a big bowl of Rocky Road ice cream.

  And then?

  Well, she’d worry about that later.

  Current task? Oversee the cleanup at the conference center, pay the auctioneer, tie a bow in those picking-­up-­the-­pieces tasks that followed a big event. All she had to do was concentrate, focus on the work and trust that keeping busy would scrub the image of Josh and Miley out on a hot date right out of her head.

  Yeah, right. If you’re buying that, there’s this bridge in Brooklyn . . .

  Through a mist of tears, she picked up the cutout of the bow-­tied Valentine’s Day teddy bear and carted it to the side of the stage, to the very spot where Josh had kissed Miley. The teddy bear he had cut out a second time to make it perfect for her.

  Perfection.

  There was no such thing. She knew it, and yet she kept trying to live up to impossible standards. Standards she’d imposed upon herself.

  She heard the sound of the front door open. Blinking, she rubbed the tears from her eyes. Had someone forgotten something? Or had stubborn Jana come back again after she had insisted she go home and leave the cleanup to her.

  For a moment she considered cowering behind the curtain, hoping the person would get what they came for and quietly leave, but then she scolded herself for being antisocial.

  She peered around the curtain at the empty auditorium.

  Except it wasn’t empty.

  Josh was propelling himself down the aisle on crutches, headed for the stage.

  She dropped the curtain, plastered her back against the wall. Had he seen her? What was he doing back here? Had he come to tell her that he and Miley were back together? She held her breath, prayed he’d go away.

  The sound of his crutches made a two-­step thumping noise against the cement floor. “Sesty,” he called. “I know you’re back there.”

  “I’m busy,” she hollered, and lightly pounded the back of her head against the wall. Was he really going to make her do this? “And you have a date to get to.”

  “Come out here so I can talk to you.”

  “Nothing to talk about.” She strove to keep her voice airy, carefree.r />
  “I didn’t know Miley was going to show up and bid on me.”

  Don’t get sucked into a conversation about his perfect model fiancée. Don’t do it.

  “How did she find out about the auction in the first place?” Sesty cringed. You just had to go and say it, didn’t you?

  “Facebook.”

  “You’re still friends with her on Facebook after the way she treated you?”

  “It’s a fan page, Sesty. Anyone can see it. I posted about the auction to help your event.”

  “Oh.” Dammit. Shut up talking, slide out the side door.

  “Are you going to make me climb those steps and come after you? Because I will,” he threatened.

  “I’m serious, Josh. There’s nothing to discuss. Go have a happy life. I’m fine.”

  There was a long moment of silence where the only sounds she heard were the heater ducts blowing air and the hard pumping of her heart.

  “I’m not,” he said finally, in such a mournful tone that she peeked around the curtain again. He stood on the auditorium floor, just below the stage, the same place he’d stood when he stripped his shirt off for her that first day.

  He dropped one crutch and it clattered to the floor, braced the other crutch underneath his left arm and reached out a hand to her. “Come talk to me.” He waited a beat and then added, “Please.”

  Her knees wavered, thin as water. She pressed a palm against the wall to steady herself.

  Resist. You don’t want to hear about his reconciliation with Miley

  His smile guided her down the stage steps, but it was the smell of him—­that particular blend of Lava soap and leather, licorice and man—­that reeled her in. The scent was etched in her memory, forever burned there as daredevil. The walls of the auditorium seemed suddenly smaller, as if they were contracting inward.

  She stopped three feet away from him, afraid that if she came any closer she’d fall on her knees and beg him to love her.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  “Where’s your date?” she asked, even though she didn’t really want to know.

  “On her way back to Houston.”

  Sesty’s lips formed an O, but no sound came out. There was that hope again, burning bright as an emergency flare.