Page 1

Lily

Shoot. Shoot.

My feet move in a blur as I hug a trash can under one arm and fist candy wrappers in my other hand.

Running around the room to clean up what looks like a wild end to a stay at the lodge, I’m moving from one task to another as I run down my mental checklist of things to do. Next, the beds.

“You’re going to be late at this rate.” Standing in the hall, Frankie is happy to remind me of what I already know as she digs through the cleaning products on her cart.

Clutching some rags, she turns toward the opening of the room I’m in, getting an eyeful of my flushed cheeks as I hug a wad of crumpled sheets to my chest. “ Lily .”

“Some men love the smell of bleach. I can sacrifice a few extra minutes helping you, seriously.” Grunting as I squash the sheets into her cart, I huff out of frustration as I pull back.

Another busy season at the Shady Pines Lodge.

Another year marked by struggles to secure staffing.

I can’t blame Sofie for scaring away the new hires, not this time.

Not when the last two people she hired only wanted to work here to enjoy the lovely pool and have an easy job where they could spend half their time playing around on their phone. Not here.

Frankie might be known for lazing about, but she always gets her work done before she’s caught slacking. Recently, she hasn’t been caught in the lounge flipping through magazines or sneaking snacks in the kitchen with her husband. It’s gotten that bad.

“No one’s going to buy you looking like that .

” She wrinkles her nose, her gaze sweeping over my rumpled clothes and messy hair like I’m a disaster in a physical form.

“I’m serious, Lily. There are three more rooms—I can handle it.

How are you supposed to catch a sexy boyfriend if you can’t even bother to look the part?

If not that, how are you supposed to enjoy this mini-vacation? ”

Oh my God.

“I’m not trying to get a boyfriend—I’m trying to help save the theater.

There’s a big difference.” I explain, fighting the urge to roll my eyes, before I rush back into my room to grab the pillowcases and blankets next.

Returning, I scoff. “Besides, if a guy’s good-looking, why would he need a charity auction to get a woman to spend the weekend with him?

Pretty sure he could manage that on his own. ”

Frankie rolls a shoulder. She doesn’t get it. She found the love of her life right here at the lodge. During my time here, I haven’t encountered a single tourist who would offer me even a sideways glance.

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Realistically? With my luck, I’ll end up bought by some lonely weirdo. Thank God Poppy set rules for this thing.”

My phone buzzes—a reminder vibrating against my back pocket. Grimacing, I shut off the alarm and look around to see what else I can help with before I’m entirely out of time.

* * *

“I am so sorry.” The words tumble out breathless as I skid to a stop just inside the grand old lobby of the Golden Ridge Cinema, my fingers raking through wind-tangled hair in a futile attempt to salvage some semblance of presentability.

The air smells faintly of lemon polish and old velvet, undercut by the nervous energy of last-minute preparations.

Poppy—organizer, ringleader, and the woman holding this entire charity auction together with sheer force of will—snaps her head up at the sound of my voice. Relief flickers across her face, sharp and unmistakable, but it’s not just about my tardiness.

She needs all the help she can get to secure the necessary funds for this project.

Her clipboard dips as she exhales, shoulders loosening just a fraction before a warm smile takes over her lips.

“I’m glad you were able to make it,” she says before her eyes fall back to her clipboard. “I swapped your place with Rue. Have a drink and cool down. You look flushed.”

I am flushed. My clothes are sticking to my skin thanks to this summer heat, and I tried to wash up to get rid of the chemical smell clinging to my skin, but time wasn’t on my side.

Thank goodness those who bid on me can’t smell me from the stage.

Thanking her, I coast through the half-finished room and stop at one of the tables with refreshments. Snagging a bottle of water, I chug half of it as I make my way into another room full of people. Darkened with the exception of the light coming from the stage, I’m surprised by the turnout.

While I know not everyone here has come to bid, there are plenty of townspeople who want to support the renovation of this place.

Against the far wall, a row of women stands in a loose line, their murmured conversations blending into the low hum of the crowd.

Some shift nervously in their heels; others laugh too brightly, fingers fiddling with hemlines or stray curls.

After finishing my drink, I toss the bottle and make my way over to join them.

Another woman announces each participant to the crowd, describing their interests and giving a few details about them.

Leaning against the wall, my heart thuds in my chest in anticipation. As soon as the next auction begins, the roll of numbers blur together. There’s a written poster clinging to the wall with the order of names, and I work to figure out how much longer before it’s my turn.

A weekend. That’s all this is. A weekend playing tour guide or dinner companion for some deep-pocketed stranger sounds like a blessing right now.

After today’s never-ending shift at the lodge—too many rooms to clean, too many loads of laundry to manage—I’ll take this over another chaotic week. At least here, the only thing at stake is my patience.

Poppy’s rule echoes in my head, crisp as the day she laid it out. This event is entirely platonic. No refunds if things get weird, but no guilt, either, if we walk. A safety net stitched tight with common sense.

So, if a creep decides to buy me, I can spend my entire weekend with my feet propped up doing absolutely nothing. As easy as it sounds, I want to keep my word and play along.

As two more women go up to the stage, I shift closer to the stairs. With my name coming next, I strive to perfect my smile.

No matter what happens, I’ve got to stay positive and enjoy myself. This is supposed to be fun, and I want to have a blast.

“And next, we have Lily!” The announcer calls out my name, beckoning me to join her. “Lily is twenty-three years old. She passes time by indulging in horror flicks and has quite the caffeine addiction, so be prepared to fund her daily dose of coffee from Willow Perk!”

Chuckles break out across the crowd at the tease, and I step into the light.

The spotlight burns against my skin, so bright it bleaches the room into a blur of silhouettes.

How did the other women manage not to squint?

I blink rapidly, willing my eyes to adjust, but the crowd remains a sea of shadowy figures—a murmur here, the glint of a watch there.

The auctioneer’s voice cuts through the haze. “Do I hear two-hundred?”

Two-hundred? That is far too much. I feel like I’m worth a couple crumpled bills and some loose change.

A paddle lifts. Somewhere to my left. Someone wants me. More than one by another raise of another paddle by a higher number.

Reminding myself that many of these people just want to donate money, I don’t let it go to my head, even if the number is crawling higher and higher.

The last donation rings in for five-hundred, and the woman next to me happily announces that the shadow in the back has won me, and to come claim his prize.

Here we go.

On shaky legs, I make it down the steps. My heart is thudding with nerves. Frankie made jokes earlier, but I’m kind of freaking out.

Even if this is completely platonic, I’ve never spent time with a man before. Never. At my age, it’s a bit pathetic, but I can’t help it.

Men tend to avoid me—not with malice, but with the same instinctive wariness of a cat circling an unfamiliar object. I’m the wrong shape for their attention. Too quiet. Too stiff. Too something.

And yet—somewhere in that faceless crowd, a man just paid to change that.

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat up my neck. The stage lights fade behind me, but the weight of stares follows, pressing like fingertips between my shoulder blades.

I don’t have to wait long before I’m joined by my shadowy figure.

All he has to do is appear, and my next breath is catching in the back of my throat.

The man standing before me isn’t just tall—he’s a freaking giant, shoulders blocking out everyone around us.

I have to crane my neck just to see his face, and when I do, my throat goes dry.

Dark, intense eyes lock onto mine, the kind that don’t blink enough. Stubble dusts his sharp jawline, and his rolled-up sleeves reveal forearms thick with muscle and a dusting of dark hair.

At his sides, his hands curl. Hands that have to be twice the size of mine. Even his fingers are dusted in hair.

He’s hot. He’s also someone I’ve never seen in my life.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t offer a hand. Just jerks his chin toward the exit, silently ordering me to follow, before turning on his heel.

Swallowing hard, I follow along. All while wondering what in the world I’ve gotten myself into.