by Kelly Moran
Parker coughed, grinning behind his fist.
Again, Jason opened his mouth, but Rosa had her phone aimed at him. "What are you doing?"
"Documenting your harrowing rescue, of course." Several clicks filled the room before her thumbs flew over the screen faster than a hummingbird's wings. "And...done." She nodded. "Nice, we have ten @ responses on Twitter already."
He sighed and glanced at the kitten, oblivious to his torment. "What's the favor?" He was going to regret asking, but any longer in their presence and his head might explode.
"Bye, Mom." Cade, infant carrier in tow, kissed Gayle's cheek and strode out.
Drake came out of the back room, wrapped an arm around Zoe's waist, and headed for the door. "Lock up, kid, would you please?"
"You got it." Gabby went behind the desk by Flynn, where Parker had successfully put himself out of the line of fire.
Abandoned, Jason tentatively eyed Marie. "Lay it on me." At this rate, he'd agree to selling Girl Scout cookies if it meant ending this day. "The favor?"
Marie adjusted her pink power suit. "As you know, the annual Firefighter's Charity Ball is next weekend. We'd like your help."
Uh-huh. "I signed up for the raffle tickets at the donation table." Actually, he was big behind the scenes, too. It was his way of honoring his dad while getting more funding for the station. There were only five paid employees at the house, him being one of them, but the rest were volunteers. Donations raised went into updating equipment, rig maintenance, and other things so they didn't drain the town's resources. "Do you need me for a longer shift?"
"No, we think you'd be better in a different capacity. The auction, in particular."
Oh. His shoulders sagged in utter relief. No matchmaking, no soul-sucking errand. Just transferring his services during the venue. "Not a problem. I can do that."
"Excellent." Marie nodded, and the posse moved to the exit. "We'll send someone by with the details sometime this weekend. We’re off to a committee meeting."
"Okay," he muttered, but they were already gone. He frowned, wondering why they'd made such a big deal of the situation. Until he looked at the others behind the desk and did a double-take at their raised brows and stupid grins. "What?"
"Uh." Parker rolled his lips over his teeth. "You know, the thing you just agreed to is a Bachelor Auction. As in, women will bid on you. For an exclusive date."
Chapter 2
Inside a conference room at the youth recreational center, Ella Sinclair divided her attention between the nine other event committee members while they discussed the raffle donations for the annual Firefighters Ball. Something about a handmade quilt and a basket of bath products were currently on the docket.
She wondered if anyone would notice if she snuck out. Though she’d joined the committee when she’d moved to Redwood Ridge a few years before so she could meet new people, she still hadn’t made many friends, aside from a couple co-workers. And she rarely socialized with them off the clock. People hardly ever realized she was present, regardless of the room’s headcount. She might have a shot at a decent escape.
These Friday night meetings were exhausting, especially considering they were immediately after a long workday of educating today’s youth. Then again, her five-year-olds had a longer attention span than most of the townsfolk in this room. They’d veered off topic more times than she had fingers to count. Their tangents had tangents that spawned tangent offspring.
Strumming her fingers on the table, she vaguely debated whether she’d have the energy for her couch rendezvous with Jamie Dornan via Netflix or if she’d just wind up taking a hot bubble bath again. Oh, the choices of singledom on a Friday night.
“Does that work for you, Ella?”
She jerked her concentration to Marie as the others rose from their seats, unaware the meeting had adjourned while her mind had wandered. “Er…” Shoot. She had no clue what particular topic the mayor was referencing. She supposed it didn’t matter. Most of the event details were just semantics at this point. “Sure.”
“Perfect. We really appreciate you stepping up.” Marie held out a tall garment bag on a hanger as if expecting Ella to understand. “We got the measurements from his mother, so it should fit him, but Fran at the tailor said she could do adjustments quickly if not. Be sure to stick around to make certain it’s the correct size before you leave, and that he knows what’s expected of him.”
Oh jeez. Ella wrung her hands. “I’m confused.”
“This is his tux for the bachelor auction,” Marie said slowly like Ella had been smacked with the Stupid Stick. A lot. And often. “The one you agreed to run over to him.”
“Of course.” She made a mental note to never lose focus during a meeting again. At least they hadn’t asked her to do anything demanding. “Yes, I’d be glad to.”
Sorry, Jamie. Rain check on the faux date.
“I know. You just said that a moment ago.” Up went Marie’s brows as she wagged the garment bag. “The task requires you to have this, though.”
“Right. Sorry.” Ella took the hanger and folded the supposed tux over her arm.
“Lovely. We’ll see you next weekend, dear.”
“Um…” Ella blew a wayward strand of hair off her cheek. “Where am I delivering this again?”
Halfway to the exit, Marie paused and turned. “To Jason, obviously.”
Obviously.
Wait. What? Surely not… “Jason Burkwell?”
And then the conversation finally, shockingly, blaringly clicked.
Charity function.
Bachelor auction.
Formal wear.
Jason, fire station lieutenant.
Oh geez, oh geez, oh geez. She had no clue he’d agreed to be put on display like a slab of meat for the starving female population. Specifically, Grade A beef.
“I’m starting to think you weren’t paying attention, Ella.”
“I was. I totally was, but…” She bit her bottom lip. “Jason doesn’t know me. It’ll seem strange if I bring him his outfit.” Was a tux considered an outfit?
“We told him someone from the committee would drop by with details.”
“Yes, but—”
“And you’re on the event committee.”
“Yes, but—”
“And you volunteered to be the person to drop those details to him.”
Technically, no. They volunteered her. “Yes, but—”
“And you live in the apartment complex right across the street from him, thus it’s convenient for you.”
“Yes, but—”
“So, we’re all set then.” Marie swished her hand as if that would wipe away the sudden smog of anxiety she’d stirred up.
Instead of honing her parrot impression with another yes, but, Ella just closed her mouth and struggled to breathe.
Introductions tended to send her straight into the Idiot category under the subheading Please Shut Up, especially when the party involved was a good-looking man. And Jason wasn’t just good-looking. No, no. Nope. If the gods of Gorgeousness and Charm and Sexiness had a threesome, Jason Burkwell would’ve been the resulting love child.
Plus, she had a massive crush on him. Then again, so did anything with two legs and breasts. For three years, she’d been trying to muster the courage to talk to him. And now she was going to show up on his doorstep on a simple mission, only to catch babbling-itis in the process. Great first impression that would make.
At least he’d remember her.
“Marie, are you sure there’s not someone else who can…?” Ella blinked and glanced around.
Cue the crickets. She was the last one left.
Peachy. Alrighty, then. She’d just get in her car, run home to check her clothes, hair, and makeup, walk across the street to Jason’s apartment, knock on his door, stare at his masculine hotness in stupid adoration, probably insert her foot into her mouth fifty-five times in under five minutes, then go back to her place and relive the embarrassment all night lo
ng while replaying what she should’ve done or said had she been a sophisticated woman, instead of a blundering moron.
Done and done. Piece of cake.
Closing her eyes, she blew out a breath as her shoulders sagged. It wasn’t like mortification was a new concept for her. Months of recovery in the hospital from her burns as a girl after her parents had died, followed by years of rehab, hadn’t exactly allowed her to craft any kind of social skills. Homeschooling until entering high school hadn’t, either. Therapists had attempted many times to work with her and rehash the mantra of being a capable person, only half of which stuck because reality proved the lie.
Truly, what was one more shameful moment to add to the book-long tally?
Jason, that’s what. He wasn’t just another patron of town or guy she’d never date. He had no clue about the history they shared, but it was a page that couldn’t be torn out and had been written with indelible ink in her mind. She had the scars as a constant reminder, lest she think about forgetting.
Chest aching, she shut off the lights, made her way down the hall, and out the door to the parking lot. Securely in her seatbelt, she wove her pretty yellow Subaru BRZ through town and parked in her designated spot outside her complex.
The garment bag taunted her from the backseat while she stared at Jason’s building across the narrow road. The units were two stories and composed of gray brick with burgundy shutters. They lined the entire private street, and each structure had three upper and three lower apartments. She happened to know Jason’s was the upper right because he often didn’t draw his blinds at night and she could see him walking past the living room window from her own.
Not that she stalked him or anything.
Her stomach knotted while seconds ticked to minutes in her car. It was perhaps best to just walk over there now before going home, otherwise she’d chicken out. The longer she delayed her chore, the more likely she would work herself into a tizzy. It was a mere delivery. Knock, pass him the tux, and about-face.
Except Marie wanted her to make sure it fit him first and give him particulars about next Saturday. Which involved staying a few minutes and talking. The latter part was so not her problem. One could say she was an expert at conversing. So much, she couldn’t stop once she started and compound sentences were involved.
Closing her eyes, she rubbed the tension from her forehead. “You can do this, Ella Elizabeth Sinclair. Get out of the vehicle.” She almost believed herself but, nonetheless, she exited and snatched the garment bag from the backseat.
Her legs were heavier than lead dipped in marble on the trek to his unit’s exterior door, through it, and up the stairs to his apartment. While trolls played bocce in her stomach, she raised her hand to knock. It trembled so adamantly, she had to shake her arm before trying again and succeeding.
Ah, geez. She was gonna throw up right on his welcome mat. Swallowing repeatedly, she eyed the wood pattern of his door, the tiny peephole, and the nondescript gray carpet of the hallway.
“Please don’t be home, please don’t be home,” she whispered just as the snitch of the latch clicked. The door swung inward. “Son of a nutcracker.”
“Not sure my mama’s ever been called a nutcracker before, but I’m sure she’d be amused you referred to me as the son of one.”
And…of course. Of course, she’d said that out loud.
Her face hot and rapidly turning molten, she smiled at him. Or tried to. She suspected she looked more like a crazed version of that chick from Fatal Attraction due to her nervousness because…
Well, yeah. The man was so sexy she understood why every member of the double X-carrying chromosome imitated saran wrap in his presence.
Rocking a pair of worn jeans and a gray tee, he leaned against the doorway like his shoulder could support a load-bearing wall. She was a decent height of five-seven, but he had a good six inches on her, and every centimeter was hard, lean, and rippled. His sandy blond hair was damp, reasonably from a recent shower, and long enough to brush the tops of his ears. His not quite green, not quite blue eyes warmed with amusement, putting the color somewhere high on the hazel spectrum. It was her first glimpse of them since they’d never been this close to one another, and dang, they were potent. The fan of arrestingly long pale lashes helped the cause.
Tendons in his forearms flexed as he crossed his arms and grinned, exposing a row of white teeth. A light dusting of scruff covered his narrow jaw and drew her attention to his mouth. Uhn, those lips. Too thin to be pouty and too plush to be inconsequential.
“I’d never complain about a pretty woman knocking on my door, but can I help you?” Grin still on detonation setting, he lifted his brows.
“You think I’m pretty?” It had been a long time, if ever, someone had said that.
She paused. Rehashed what she’d just spouted in response to his question. And wanted to die.
That. That right there was exactly how the slippery slope into Humiliation-ville began.
She slapped a hand over her face. “Shitake mushrooms, I said that aloud.”
His low chuckle rumbled in the space between them. “You got kids or something? One of the guys at the station has three and finds creative ways not to curse, too.”
“Or something.” She lowered her arm. “You’ll have to forgive me. I ramble a lot when I’m nervous and—”
“Why are you nervous?”
“Um…because you’re Jason?” Duh with a duh chaser.
One of his eyebrows quirked. “Last I checked.”
“Jason Burkwell,” she clarified. Unnecessarily. With emphasis.
“Also a true statement. Still not sure why that would make you nervous, though.” He lazily crossed one bare foot over the other like preparing to be there awhile.
“You look like a Photoshopped version of Thor with Iron Man’s flirtation skills and Captain America’s values.”
A beat passed, then he threw his head back and laughed. Laughed. Like she’d cracked a joke and wasn’t totally serious. “Gotta appreciate a girl with a geek side and an affinity for Avengers. However, Thor might take offense to that statement. I promise not to tattle to Hemsworth if you tell me your name.”
She was too caught up in the masculine timbre of his laugh and the sudden drop it caused in her belly to spit out much more than, “Huh?”
“Your name? We’ve established that I’m Jason Burkwell, possibly Thor’s long-lost twin, but you’ve yet to divulge who you are.”
“Oh, geez. Forgive me. I’m Ella Sinclair from the Redwood Ridge event committee and—”
A flash of white fur zipped across the hardwood floor behind him. There and then gone. So fast, she had to wonder if babbling-itis was creating other symptoms such as hallucinations. A squeaky mew followed point five seconds later, and the white fur zipped past again in the other direction.
Gaze heavenward, he sighed. “Ignore the kitten. I’m trying to figure out what to do about her.”
“Um, well typically you don’t have to do…” Zig went said kitten. “Anything. Cats pretty much…” A zag the other way. “Take care of themselves. Just show them some…” Zigzag. “Attention once in awhile, feed them daily, and keep the litterbox…” Zigzag, zigzag, zigzag. “Clean.”
“Awesome. You speak feline.” He grabbed her elbow and urged her forward. “Come in, Ella Sinclair of the Redwood Ridge event committee. You’re my new best friend.”
Between the garment bag over one arm, her purse slipping off her shoulder, and his physical encouragement across the threshold, she stumbled. Next thing she knew, her knees had smacked the floor planks and the contents of her purse were littering his living room.
In the brief silence that followed, mortification knew no bounds. Until it accepted the challenge and threw down its own gauntlet.
Crinkle, crinkle.
While she watched in horror, the kitten pawed at her emergency backup tampon that had landed somewhere near the vicinity of his black walnut coffee table. The crackling scratch o
f the wrapper was deafening.
Ella covered her face, praying to any God that would listen to make her disappear into thin air. Poof, she was never here.
Except, why would the gods be forgiving now? Nope. Not in her lifetime.
Paw, paw.
Crinkle, crinkle.
“Should’ve ignored a direct order from the mayor and stuck with Jamie Dornan instead.” She let out a shaky breath and took stock of her position. On her knees. In front of Jason. In his apartment. Speaking of Jamie… “How Fifty Shades of me.”
Jason squatted to her level. “You lost me, but we’ll get back to that. Are you all right? I apologize. In my excitement, I didn’t mean to tug you that hard. I’ve called every person I know and some I didn’t trying to find a home for spazz over there. No luck, and then here you are.”
On cue, the kitten picked up the tampon with her teeth and took off with her loot toward what Ella assumed was the bedroom.
“I’m fine, thank you. It wasn’t your fault. I’m clumsy.” Understatement of the millennium.
“You had a little help this time, thanks to me.” He wrapped his huge hands around her shoulders. “Up you go.”
The room blurred as he picked her up and set her on her feet. Just like that. As if she wasn’t tall and curvy with Baby Got Back to spare.
He ducked his face close to hers, and she caught the barest scent of woodsy cologne. “Are you sure?”
At first, she thought he meant her not-so-waifish body type, but she was just dizzy enough to keep her trap shut and realized he wanted to know if she was hurt. “I’m okay, thanks.”
“Excellent.”
The tampon wrapper crinkled from an unseen location.
He opened his mouth and pointed. “I’m going to assume you don’t want that back. Let me help you with this other stuff.” He bent and retrieved the contents of her purse. “What does Ella Sinclair of the event committee want with lil ole me?” Palms open, he offered her the items.
“Er…” One by one, she put things back in her purse. “I have your tux for the auction. I’m supposed to make sure it fits. I also have the itinerary and can go over what you can expect.”