Almost Had You

by Rachel Robinson

  My dad asks if everyone is enjoying themselves and if we should plan another event soon. The crowd agrees like he knew they would. Every single resident of Greenton is out and about today. The festivals and town parties are one of few causes for celebration. “Where are all of my eligible bachelors?” Dad booms. The women by the stage tidy up, smoothing dresses, and patting their hair. Vultures waiting to see who gives up bidding first.

  I reach down into the hidden dress pocket and turn on my mic, and try to keep my hands relaxed by my sides. It’s hard when I want to strangle the man who gave me life.

  “May I introduce you to my daughter. The philanthropist, the domestic goddess, Clover Wellsley.” More seersucker cuts into my line of view and I hold my smile steady. “Today’s auction will be for one date with Clover! All of the proceeds will go to the women’s and children’s shelter right here in Greenton. This cause is dear to Clover’s heart, so I hope that you’ll open your checkbooks and show her you have something in common.” Dad finally looks at me. There is a flash of an apology in his eyes, but he knows it’s too late for that. I don’t flinch, nope. It’s my time.

  With my mouth shut, I run my tongue along my top teeth as a last preventative measure to ensure I don’t have lipstick where it shouldn’t be. “Welcome, welcome,” I say, schooling my face, perfecting the stance, one leg crossed over the other, heels pressing close together. “He’s right,” I say, my voice echoing through the speakers. “It is near and dear to my heart. I’ll give the fine print details really quick before Daddy starts the bidding.” Mercer’s band music fades in the distance and the silence cuts as everyone focuses on me. It doesn’t affect me like it does most people. It’s like a pageant. You sort of pretend you’re someone different and fade into character. I deliver the fine print of the contest, take a bit to enlighten everyone about the shelter, then list my favorite foods and describe my favorite type of date.

  There are about eight men in front of the stage, their mirrored sunglasses hiding their excitement. “Get it started, Mayor Wellsley,” I say.

  A nervousness swells in my chest as Daddy starts the bidding at twenty-five dollars. Slicked-back man number one throws his lace auction paddle in the air, a yellow stain waving at me from his armpit. Mama made the paddles especially for this occasion. They’re embarrassingly pink and the numbers are written in a swirly script. Bachelor number five throws up his paddle and calls out, “Seventy-five dollars.” High rollers, I think, a swift annoyance replacing my nervousness. Minutes tick by like this, a painful crawl until we’ve reached one thousand dollars. This is where I expect people to bow out. The threshold where rich people pause and consider what else they could do with that same amount at the mall. Is the tax deduction really worth it?

  “For charity, guys,” I add in, tilting my head to the side. This auction is just for show. The shelter is completely funded because of our family wealth—it’s a drop in the bucket. The people of Greenton don’t know the depths of the Wellsley’s pockets and shows like this make my daddy look more human, more like them. It’s integral to keep our family grounded and in good standing with our community. What will me leaving do to that reputation? I might be madder than sin today, but these people are still my family—the people who love me in their bent out of shape way.

  One thousand dollars jumps to two thousand, and all but two bidders have bowed out. The other bachelors set their lace paddles on the edge of the stage and wander over to the beer garden. The women who were loitering around the stage earlier have now all magically appeared in the beer garden as well. Dog eat dog. These are bachelors from the city. A ticket out of here and on to a better life that won’t be around often.

  A familiar face appears, weaving through the crowd growing now that the bid has increased. He grabs a random lace paddle off the stage, and my smile widens. I declined his proposal and yet here he is saving me. Making eye contact with my daddy, he extends the lace in the air and proclaims, “Five thousand dollars for a date with Clover Wellsley.”

  My daddy’s eyes light. A man who has money and who wants to date his daughter. Little does he know; this man swings a bat for the other team. When the other men look defeated—hanging their heads, I scramble to say, “Winner! Winner! You win!” When Daddy sees my excitement, he closes the bidding and asks for the winner’s name. After thanking everyone for attending the festival and those bidding, I switch off my mic and descend the portable stairs next to Tannie.

  She pulls me into a hug. “Mercer is on his way here. Joe just texted me to say it was the end of the parade. I’m sure he’ll come right quick to save you.” I’ve just been saved, but I never told Tannie about this man’s proposal. No one else knew.

  “Out of everything you just said, I’m most concerned with the name Joe.”

  Tannie rolls her eyes. “We’re just chit-chatting.”

  “Right, I know what that actually means.”

  She pulls the mic off the collar of my dress, her eyelashes fluttering. “Go meet your suitor, Clover. Don’t worry about what I’m doing.”

  “It’s ironic that you worry about my every move,” I say. “It’s merely a business transaction. You know how bad Joe is for you. I worry about you.”

  “Not everyone has your kinda options.” The mask of cool indifference slides into place, and I barely recognize my best friend. I can’t hide my background from her, and therein lies the complication. This will make leaving her that much easier.

  “You’re right. It’s none of my business.” And with that statement, she knows what I’m really saying is that my life isn’t any of her business anymore either. I hand her the black box from my pocket, the wireless headset, and meet her gaze. “Great job with the festival. You really did an amazing job.” A compliment to ease the sting. “Enjoy yourself today.”

  Tannie’s eyes flare as she tries to decide what to say, but I don’t give her the opportunity. Edging my way around several people, I make my way to where my daddy is talking to Preston Sears. “That went well,” I say to my father. To Preston, I extend my hand and drawl, “Thank you so much for your generous contribution to the shelter. I appreciate it so much. Shall we have a drink at the beer garden and discuss our date?” I don’t miss the spark in my father’s eyes when he realizes exactly which family Preston belongs to as he examines the check.

  Preston takes my offered hand and kisses it instead of shaking it. “I’ve been dreaming of the day I’d get to be in the graces of the beautiful Clover Wellsley again. I daresay you do not disappoint, ma’am.” He offers an elbow, and I link my arm into his. All eyes are on us as he ushers me forward.

  “Dear God in Heaven, Preston,” I mutter, teeth clenched. “I’ll pay you back double for this. You don’t know how much it means to me.” I keep my tone low, but I know Preston hears me because of his wide grin—eyes crinkling in the corner.

  When we’re out of earshot of everyone he pulls me in front of him, extending my hand in the air. “Let me see what I’ve won.” He chuckles. “I do have some idea how much this means to you,” he says, cheeks flushing. “It wasn’t my idea, but I did think it was a fantastic one.”

  I shake my head. “I should have married you, Preston. We’re like a superhero team. This unstoppable duo. We could probably take over the world.”

  “Except, I have no interest in giving you the same things he wants to give you,” Preston says, Southern accent fainter than my own. Glancing where he’s nodded, I see Mercer Ballentine jogging toward the beer garden. He’s wearing his dadgum uniform. The white one. His brightly-hued ribbons displayed on his chest, the big trident pin that marks him as a Navy SEAL glitters golden in the sunlight.

  I swallow hard. “Lord.”

  Preston watches him approach us. “Yeah, I agree. Lord. You’re one lucky woman.” He looks back to me. “But it’s obvious you already know that.”

  “Wait,” I say, scrunching up my nose. “This was Mercer’s idea? You being here?”

  There isn’t time for an a
nswer. Mercer is here, wide chest demanding attention. I lose my breath as my body reacts to his proximity. “How did it go?” he asks, casting his eyes between Preston and me.

  “Just as planned, Mr. Ballentine,” Preston replies. “I got here just in time. It was a success.”

  I blink a few times. “You had him buy me. How did you find Preston to begin with? I never told you his name. I barely told you anything about him.” I rattle the conversation I had with Mercer at DR the night he got home around in my mind.

  Mercer sighs, taking my hands in his. “My job offers me a peculiar set of skills and by the description you gave, well, I was able to figure it out on my own. I also knew your daddy would do everything in his power to stop me from being here, so I figured it out. It worked.” Mercer lifts and lowers his arms, releasing me. Preston watches him, eyes rapt.

  “I bought you in his honor, Clover,” Preston says, gaze mirthful, joking. “Not that humans can be bought.”

  “I appreciated it when I didn’t know Mercer was involved, but even more so now. You’re a good friend, Preston. I owe you one. Let me know if you ever need me to buy you, okay?”

  Preston shakes his head, white smile flashing. “Don’t even mention it. I’m happy to help. Now if you’ll excuse me, bachelor number seven was making eyes and I need to find out if I have a chance.”

  Mercer shades his eyes, peering in the direction where Preston is looking. “Oh, there’s a one-hundred percent chance of snow over there, buddy. Go get ‘em.” He slaps Preston on the shoulder. “Thank you for today. I owe you one, too.”

  Preston points a finger at Mercer. “I will take you up on that one day.” Preston leaves.

  Mercer slides his hands into his pockets, his biceps pulling the white fabric of his uniform. “He wouldn’t even let me pay him back.” He shrugs. “He’s a good friend to have in your corner.” Speaking of friends in corners, I see my dad peering at us, eyes narrowed, hands on his hips.

  “Beer?” I ask, pulling on his arm.

  Mercer adjusts his cover and lets me lead him away. There’s a dirt patch that has patio tables and chairs. He pulls out a chair for me and I take a seat. “I don’t want to drink while in uniform, but I’ll grab you a beer. Wine?”

  I tell him what I’d like, but then become aware of all of the attention we’re receiving. Tannie is glaring, standing next to my dad. My mama is busy with a few women from her gardening club, chatting animatedly. She’s oblivious for the moment. When Mercer gets back, I take the beer and try to keep a friendly grin on my face. “Thank you.” Tipping my head back, I take a long swallow. “Nothing like getting sold in front of your town to create a thirst.”

  “You know they only act that way because they don’t know any different,” Mercer says, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

  Ignoring the sad state of affairs, I say, “You are unbearably attractive in that uniform. There are a few things I’d like to do when we get back to my place.”

  “Hey, hey. Don’t change the subject.”

  “How was the parade?” I ask. “Do you feel properly welcomed home?”

  He tilts his chin down. “It was unnecessary. You know I’m not about all this. I wanted to visit home and relax before I go back. Parades are sort of the opposite of relaxation.”

  I choke down the rest of my beer. “I am the opposite of relaxation. I have no idea why you’re mixing yourself up with my crazy. You had to track down my gay ex to save myself the pain of dating a proper Southern gentleman.”

  His gaze cuts away, eyeing something over my shoulder. “Because I’m surely not a Southern gentleman, right?” Mercer shakes his head, letting his gaze land on the people surrounding us.

  I panic, my heart ricocheting in my chest. “No. That’s not what I meant. Of course you are. I want you.” I enunciate the last word harshly.

  He leans in and licks his lips. “You want me because I’m forbidden. A good time wrapped in a tight package. I’m the thrill before you settle for bachelor number five. You don’t look at me like anything more than a good time. Nothing I do seems to increase my odds of changing your perspective of me.”

  My throat burns as I swallow hard. “You don’t get it. How hard it is for me to shun the only life I’ve ever known to jump into something that I’m clueless about. I’m still learning. I used the wrong words. Look at you.” I nod at his uniform. “You are more than a Southern gentleman, you’re that plus some. Please. I’m sorry, Mercer. I shouldn’t have said that.” How insecure must he be that a slip of the tongue creates such a visceral response from him. His breathing is heavy, and his pupils dilate. His ego isn’t what I’m used to. There’s an unfamiliar fragility to it. “Look at me.”

  Mercer turns his gaze to meet mine and my heart skips a beat. I take both of his hands in mine. “Let’s go to Cape Cod. Spend a week there before you redeploy. I’m ready to leave this all behind. Start a new life. Together.” My car came back from the shop and I’m ready. There is nothing left on my list to check off. If leaving this place with Mercer helps him understand how much he means to me, then that’s what I want to do.

  “As simple as that?” He shutters the emotion visible seconds before. “Pack your car and drive to Cape Cod to start a new life?”

  I shrug. “Exactly that. You don’t have to go if you want to stay here and visit with your parents and friends, but I’m ready.” By enacting this plan, I’m telling him I’m serious about a new life. That I’m serious about him. “Mercer, I want you. This place though? It makes me behave in a way that I hate. I need out.”

  “I’ll go with you,” he says, pulling his hands from mine. “I have stuff to take care of back there before I leave again anyway. You’re sure then? About all of it?”

  I nod, glancing back to where my parents and my friends are standing, staring in my direction. “I am.”

  Mercer chuckles when I meet his gaze. “I like your dress,” he says through his laughter.

  “What’s so funny about it?” I reply.

  He shakes his head, debating if he should speak it. “Why did the blonde stare at the bottle of orange juice?”

  I roll my eyes all the way back. Mercer’s eyes flit from my cleavage back up to my face. “I’ll bite. Even though blonde jokes are awful. Why was she staring at the bottle of orange juice?”

  “It said concentrate,” he says, chortling. I tell him it’s a bad joke, and he laughs even louder. I stand from the table and Mercer follows suit. “To your house then?”

  “As long as you don’t tell me any more blonde jokes.”

  “What about orange jokes?”

  “The only orange joke I want to hear is the one where the oranges on my dress meet the floor of my bedroom.”

  He snakes an arm around my waist and my body buzzes. “You’re insatiable, Ms. Wellsley.” I meet eyes with Preston and mouth the words thank you one more time before slipping into the crowd. I’ll pay him back one day, I’ll make it my dying wish.

  Chapter Eleven

  ___________________________________

  Clover

  MERCER DROVE HIS dad’s truck and I drove my car home from the festival. We’re at my house, I’m standing on one side of my bedroom and Mercer is standing on the other. In a white uniform that was made for him, tailored to every muscle and curve of his body. He looks good enough to eat, but I just remembered the awful truth about what’s underneath the orange dress that has been the butt of twenty-seven jokes in my mind on the ride here.

  “No, I want to. It’s just I’m not ready right now,” I say, hoping he won’t probe. He just called himself a Southern gentleman, didn’t he? “I need to change first, that’s all.”

  He takes off his uniform shirt. “Ready how? Are you a recipe that needs to simmer? A loaf of bread that has to rise?” His words are light, but his gaze is fire. “I will take the dress off of you. We’ll solve the whole changing first problem when you’ll end up naked anyway.”

  “Undergarments, Mercer. I don’t exp
ect you to understand, but leave it to you to turn this into something about food.”

  He pulls the white undershirt out of his pants, untucking both in a brusque move. “I don’t care if your bra and panties match, Clover. I want what’s under them. It’s always about food. Both things I want to eat. Same. Same.” His gaze turns hungry and I realize how embarrassing this is about to get. There’s no stopping it now.

  “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I exclaim, adjusting the deep V of my dress, even though I know everything is secure.

  Mercer grins, not taking me seriously. “Come on, darlin’ Let’s get this started. I’ve been wanting you all day long. You’re cooked and risen and it’s sort of a lucky coincidence, I’m risen, too.” The bulge in his white uniform pants twitches to drive his point home.

  I breathe out. I want it so badly. “You’re such a smooth talker, aren’t you? Tell me what smooth and suave thing you have to say about this.” I push the shoulders of my dress down my arms and slide the dress down to pool at my waist. My breasts spring free, and his face contorts in absolute confusion—brows furrowed and lips twisted. “It’s tape, Mercer, pick your jaw up off the floor.”

  “What is happening here? It looks a bit like a Marilyn Manson music video, but I dig it.” He nods subtly as he studies me.

  “It’s a trick most women would love to keep secret. You didn’t give me that courtesy. I can’t wear a bra with this dress, so I taped my boobs up and out. It conceals my nipples and makes things stand a little higher, keeps them inside the dress, if you catch my drift. I’m pretty offended you’re comparing my gaffer’s tape bra to a musician.” I point at my breasts. “A lot of women do this.” Especially in the pageant world, but that’s something I don’t want him thinking about. The old Clover. The one I swore to leave behind.

  He presses his lips into a firm line, trying to control a laugh. “I’m really sorry I didn’t have the proper response when you pulled those puppies out. I think any man would have a hard time coming up with something smooth to say.” He swallows. “Hey sweetie, can I stick to you like your tape? If you can’t fix it with tape, you aren’t using enough tape? I like you like I like my tape, sticky and ready to bring things together?”