Three Simple Words (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  Annie forced a smile. “Like Jamie doubted your feelings for him.”

  Brynn nodded. “He had every right, even if he was stupid enough to think I could have wanted anyone else after that night in Amarillo.”

  Brynn’s eyes got all dreamy and far off.

  Annie held up her hands in surrender. “I love you guys. I really do. But if I have to hear about Amarillo again…”

  Brynn crossed her arms and gave her friend a knowing grin. “You could tell me about the Blissful Nights hotel,” she said.

  Annie bit her lip, remembering her first night with Wes. And she’d enjoyed keeping the details of said night to herself, like it was something just for them.

  “I think I’m going to hold on to that one,” she said.

  Brynn shrugged. “Hold on to hope, too. A good-looking ass is hard to resist.”

  Annie shook her head at her friend, then picked up the headpiece that completed her costume.

  “I’ll have you know that Bottom, in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, was actually one of the wittiest characters, even if he didn’t know it.”

  Brynn offered her a hand to pull her up from the bed.

  “Then let your witty words win back your hero,” she said.

  No. Annie was going to take her cue from Wes this time. Because they were more than words on a page. She knew that now. She knew without a doubt that he loved her that night after his dad’s apartment. He didn’t need to say it. He’d shown her what she should have been able to see but was too scared to admit.

  Now it was her turn to show him.

  She threw on the mask.

  “Let’s go bid on some bachelors,” she said, her voice muffled inside the donkey’s head.

  “You sound like an ass,” Brynn said, giggling. “But a really hopeful one,” she added. “I’ll text Jamie and make sure Jeremy and Wes are on the upper level getting ready for the auction so I can sneak you in. Not that you’re at all inconspicuous.”

  Annie took a deep breath.

  Please be right, B. Not about the inconspicuous part. But about the hope.

  Because hope was all she had left.

  “Out,” Jamie said when she and Brynn walked through the door and he saw his fiancée’s Cubs gear. “Your kind is not welcome here,” he added.

  Annie let out a nervous laugh inside her mask. Jamie was decked out, head to toe, in a White Sox uniform, of course. Brynn ignored him, planted a kiss on his angry looking lips, and then whispered something in his ear.

  His shoulders relaxed. “Well, I’m fucking powerless against that,” he said. Annie didn’t even want to ask.

  “Who’s the ass?” he asked, and Brynn snorted.

  Annie wanted to stomp her foot, but then she thought that might be too asslike. But come on. There was a literary connection here. Plus, the metaphorical interpretation of her being an ass for not believing in Wes. But she should have known the night would be filled with donkey jokes.

  Brynn whispered something in Jamie’s ear again.

  “Upstairs getting ready to parade themselves in front of generous donors looking for a good time.”

  Annie’s throat tightened, and Brynn backhanded Jamie on the chest.

  “What?” he asked.

  Brynn pulled him and Annie toward his office. When they got inside, Annie barely had room to move. Brynn must have sensed this because it was she who lifted her mask off her head.

  “Christ,” Jamie said. “I knew you were putting together some crazy grand gesture scheme, but don’t you think it would have been nice to give your fiancé warning about more drama happening in his place of business?”

  Annie gave him a nervous smile while Brynn tried to level him with her gaze.

  “Remember what you whispered out there?” Jamie nodded back toward the main bar area. “That was for your—costume. But now that there’s this?” He motioned between the two girls with an accusing index finger. “I want it twice.”

  Brynn feigned a dramatic gasp, palm to her chest.

  “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Kingston.”

  Jamie raised his brows and nodded, a smile spreading across his face.

  “Ick,” Annie said. “I’d really prefer not being a part of your foreplay.”

  Brynn squeezed Jamie’s cheeks in her palm and kissed him.

  “No drama,” she said, then crossed her heart.

  “Does your brother know?” he asked, looking at Annie expectantly. She gave him a sheepish grin and shook her head.

  “Jesus, Annie.” He adjusted his baseball cap. “I want whatever you’re planning to do to work, but if it doesn’t—and I’m just considering all scenarios—is your brother going to put a lawsuit on my hands?”

  Crap. She hadn’t considered Jeremy’s reaction. The only thing she knew about the Jeremy and Wes situation was that Wes hadn’t done anything drastic like press charges but that he had moved out of the apartment, all in the span of five days. She’d buried herself with work and avoided the bar and her brother.

  “You said they were upstairs together,” Annie said. “That means they’re getting along, right? Jeremy wouldn’t have him in the auction if there was still bad blood between them.”

  Jamie shrugged.

  “Wes kind of quit all of us,” he said. “Left the apartment and called that night to tell me he thought it was best he stopped working here. Said he was heading back to New York next week anyway to finalize some stuff with his agent and publisher. I haven’t seen him since your brother laid him out on my floor, and I really don’t want to see that happen again.”

  Annie was finding it harder to breathe.

  “Back to New York?” she asked, eyes wide. “Like, for good?”

  “Shit,” Brynn said under her breath.

  “Shit?” Annie added, hearing the desperation in her own voice. “You didn’t know about this?”

  Brynn shook her head.

  Annie grabbed her donkey head back, mustering up as much resolve as she could manage.

  “I’m just here to bid on a bachelor,” she said. “And I promise anything that happens after that will not put your bar in danger, Jamie.”

  She placed the mask back on her head, completing her ensemble.

  The bar was safe. But her heart? That was another story.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Wes looked Jeremy up and down, wondering how much cash he laid out just for the costume rental.

  “It’s pretty authentic looking, right?” Jeremy asked. “I had to watch a YouTube video, like, seven times to get the kilt right.” He slid the tartan up past his knee and raised a brow. “Like what you see?”

  Wes laughed.

  “Do you even know what Outlander is?” he asked.

  Jeremy shook his head. “I don’t need to. I know women go crazy for the whole Scottish thing. And I’m not afraid to say this, but I think I’m even prettier than you tonight, Hartley. If your celebrity wasn’t enough to bring in the donations, I’d accuse you of trying not to get bought.”

  Wes placed the fake nose over his own and situated the elastic band around his ears. “Cyrano?” he asked. Jeremy gave him a blank stare. “You ever see that ’80s movie, Roxanne?”

  He watched the lightbulb go on as Jeremy grinned.

  “Yeah, yeah. The guy who says all the right stuff but isn’t good-looking. Annie loves all those ’80s movies. Made me watch them with her whenever she had a bad breakup. So, you know, I’ve seen a lot. Still waiting for her to invite me over for Sixteen Candles or something this weekend.”

  Wes’s chest tightened. It felt like his ribs were trying to crush the vital organ that lay underneath. Was this a breakup? Could that happen before you even acknowledged the relationship? And Jeremy wouldn’t understand the costume like Annie would. Cyrano said all the right things. Wes—the supposed wordsmith—never said the three that she needed to hear.

  “She’s really not coming, huh?” Wes asked, regretting the question as soon as it left his mouth. Of course she wasn’t c
oming. He was auctioning himself off as a bachelor.

  “She told me to call her tomorrow, that she didn’t want to hear anything about tonight, even when it was all over. Sounds like a pretty emphatic no,” Jeremy said.

  Wes nodded.

  “It’s all for the best, right? You don’t have to worry about your buddy messing around with your sister, and I don’t have to worry about getting trampled to dust. Win-win.”

  Jeremy pulled at his fake nose and let it slap back at his face.

  “Seriously?” His eyes widened. The swelling had gone down, but the skin under and around Wes’s left eye was still an angry, mottled purple.

  “Shit, man.” But Jeremy was laughing. “I’m sorry. I have zero impulse control.”

  The buzz of the speakers interrupted them.

  “Ladies and gentleman. Welcome to the first—and hopefully annual—Kingston Ale House Bachelor Auction benefiting Chicago’s Food Bank. My name is Beth, your CFB representative and MC for the evening. I want to thank you in advance for your donations. Thanks to you, many families will have food this holiday season that otherwise wouldn’t have.”

  Wes and Jeremy were lined up behind the bar at the back of the upper deck while Beth the MC stood at a table on the opposite end of the room, mic in hand.

  Jeremy nudged him on the shoulder. “The real reason for my lack of impulse control,” he said.

  “You need help,” Wes told him.

  He laughed. “Yeah. You’re not the first to think so.”

  Almost every seat at every table was taken, and still people were pouring onto the deck. Jamie stood at the top of the stairs, monitoring the traffic flow. Brynn was next to him, but that was it. Just the two of them.

  He was leaving in a few days, anyway. This was for the best. He’d convinced himself of that when he bought the plane ticket, deciding to leave his bike in storage until he figured out where home was going to be.

  They listened as the first bachelor was introduced, a local firefighter who was also, according to Beth, a gourmet chef. He was in uniform rather than a costume because, hell, he was a firefighter. The bids started before he could even get down the makeshift aisle between the tables.

  “Fifty dollars!”

  “One hundred!”

  “One hundred and fifty!”

  Wes turned back to Jeremy. “What’s the real obligation as far as the date’s concerned?” he asked. “I mean, I know the flyer says date immediately following the auction. But is date a euphemism?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “It’s open to interpretation. Just do me a favor and don’t interpret where I can see you. I’m still your ex-whatever’s brother.”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears. He scanned the room—a room full of beautiful women. Stacy could be out there. Or Oksana. Or anyone who was a part of his life before—before Annie. What the hell was he doing? Maybe he blew it with her, but this wasn’t the solution. And without a second more to think it through, he was stepping back from his place in line. He squeezed Jeremy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jer. I can’t do it. I’ll write a check, but I have to get out of here.”

  He paused a second, waiting for what he knew was coming, another fist to the face. But instead Jeremy just grinned.

  “Go get her,” he said. “Go find Annie.”

  Wes was already moving before Jeremy finished the second syllable of her name. But the place was so crowded that the only feasible way out was down the aisle. So he strode toward the opposite end of the room as bids for the firefighter came to a close. He was just about to slip behind a table in front of the stairs when he heard his name in surround sound.

  “Wes Hartley, folks!” Beth said nervously into the mic. “You all know New York Times bestselling author Wes Hartley!”

  He stopped in his tracks and noted all the women scanning their programs, listened to the mumbling about a change in order, and then Beth came over the speakers again.

  “That’s right, everyone. We’re changing up the program because Mr. Hartley couldn’t wait to meet his lucky lady.” Beth motioned for him, and he had no choice. It would have been one thing for them to call his name once he was already gone. But now, with all eyes on him and the success of the event resting on Jeremy’s shoulders, he couldn’t be that selfish. So he ignored his easy out and made his way to the table where Beth stood. She covered the mic as the whispers from the audience began to die down.

  “Getting cold feet, Cyrano?” she whispered. “Your friend promised you’d be on the auction block.”

  Wes shook his head. “Of course not. Just eager to get this over with.”

  He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and painted on a smile.

  She grinned back. “By all means.” Then she uncovered the mic. “Well, everyone, now that we’re all on the same page, I’d like to introduce again your next lucky bachelor, Wes Hartley. Mr. Hartley’s debut novel has received critical acclaim while holding its spot on the New York Times list for its first two months of publication. Rumor has it the book will be optioned for film with Mr. Hartley penning the screenplay.”

  He narrowed his gaze at Jeremy back behind the bar who didn’t even pretend to play dumb. He just shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. He really was a man with zero control if there was a good-looking woman in the room.

  “The starting bid will be—” But Beth never had the chance to finish the sentence.

  “One hundred dollars!” a blond woman up front, dressed as Marilyn Monroe, called, holding up her paddle.

  “One fifty!” This came from a pixie-haired brunette flapper just behind her.

  “Two hundred,” the first woman said, tossing an angry glare at her competition.

  “Two fifty.”

  “Three hundred.”

  Wes watched the back and forth, both grateful that neither woman was someone he knew previously and at the same time slightly terrified that one of the tenacious bidders would be his date for the rest of the evening.

  “Three fifty!” This bid was back with the brunette.

  “A thousand dollars.”

  Gasps erupted from the crowd as everyone’s heads turned toward the muffled voice.

  Wes craned his neck to get a glimpse of the bidder, but he saw nothing more than the paddle, the black glove, and the gray sleeve.

  Shit. This was it. He hadn’t thought this through. It didn’t sound like Oksana. But it could definitely be Stacy. If it was Lindsay—engaged Lindsay—well, then this night was more messed up than he’d expected.

  “Eleven hundred,” Marilyn Monroe said, a satisfied smile on her face as she held up her paddle and stared straight at Wes.

  “Two thousand.”

  His eyes widened. He wasn’t even sure he’d heard right. The bidder had to be wearing some sort of mask, but he still couldn’t see the whole costume.

  “Folks, we have a bid of two thousand dollars for an evening with Mr. Wes Hartley. Do I hear twenty-one hundred?” The whole room went silent, and apparently the rest of the bar had, too.

  Wes glanced toward the staircase where Jamie and Brynn still stood. Jamie shrugged, and Brynn seemed to be trying to mask whatever it was she was feeling. He found Jeremy on the other end of the room, but Jeremy wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were on the bidder, his expression amused.

  “Two thousand dollars going once,” Beth said. “Two thousand going twice. And sold to the—I’m sorry, but could the bidder in the back please stand?”

  Slowly, she did. Or he. Who the hell knew? Because the person with the winning paddle who’d just made the Chicago Food Bank two grand richer—was a donkey.

  “Sold to the donkey in the back row!” Beth said, her voice a little shaky. “Thank you for your donation. Your bachelor will escort you downstairs to the reception area.”

  The donkey gave an awkward nod and slid out from its table. First it tried to sidestep the remaining patrons from the outside, but as Wes found only minutes before,
there was no easy path to the front other than the actual aisle. So he watched as Eeyore—or maybe it was Donkey from Shrek—made its way toward him to the awe of onlookers on either side, stopping in front of the table where he stood with Beth.

  “Will you…take off the mask?” he asked.

  “Why were you trying to leave?” she asked. Yeah, it was definitely a she in there, but she still sounded like she was underwater.

  Wes looked toward Beth who shrugged. “We got our donation. So go ahead. Tell everyone why you were trying to sneak out.” She handed him the mic.

  More whispers and gasps. Wes simply groaned.

  “Because I shouldn’t be doing this when I’m in love with someone who’s not here,” he admitted. “I’m sorry,” he said to the woman inside the donkey. “I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, though. I’m your date for the remainder of the evening.”

  She placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side, which would be so much less creepy if she wasn’t, you know, a donkey.

  “Will you take off the nose?” she asked. “For our date?”

  His brow furrowed, but he nodded and removed the nose.

  “I thought you’d be dressed as the Tin Man. Or maybe the Wizard,” she said, and Wes almost knocked a chair over stepping out from behind the table.

  “Take off the mask,” he said, but she just stood there. “Shit, Annie,” he pleaded. “Take off the mask.”

  She did, placing it on the table next to her.

  And there she was. Red hair—her long, overgrown bangs matted against her forehead. Emerald eyes welling with tears as they stared back at his.

  “You said loved the other day. Past tense. But just now—”

  She couldn’t finish the sentence, so he did it for her.

  “I loved you that night.” He took a step closer. “And the morning after.” Another step. “And every day since you let me walk out that door.” His hand was on her cheek. “And right now, Annie Denning. I love you right now.” His thumb swiped at a lone tear that ran down her cheek. “Those words have never been simple for me, but I should have said it that night. Because magic is real, Annie. Between you and me it is.”

  She laid her gloved palm over his hand.