Page 12 of Auctioned to the Cowboy

The living room is barely recognizable when I step into it. Tom and Angus have gone above and beyond, transforming the rustic space. The strings of Christmas lights I hung earlier in the week now drape elegantly along the walls, casting a soft, warm glow over everything. I remember how Henry frowned when I put up the Christmas tree, but it all adds a touch of magic to the place. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part.

Sprigs of evergreen and red berries are tucked into the edges of picture frames and along the mantle, giving the room a festive charm. A makeshift aisle runs down the middle of the space, marked by mason jars filled with fairy lights and tied with simple white ribbons.

In the corner, a small table holds a tiered tray of cookies alongside a pitcher of cider that steams faintly in the chill of the room. Someone—probably Tom—has added a rustic touch witha small chalkboard sign propped on the table, the words “Today is the day!” written in a looping script.

I take it all in, my heart catching at the sight. It’s not a grand cathedral or a fairy-tale ballroom, but it’s perfect in its own way. It’s real, like everything about this place. It feels like home.

“Tom and Angus,” I say, my voice softer than I intended, “you did all this?”

Tom grins, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, looking every bit the mischievous troublemaker. “We figured you deserved something special. Weddings aren’t just paperwork, you know.”

“Plus,” Angus adds, adjusting the crooked tie he’s somehow managed to wrestle himself into, “we couldn’t let Henry marry you in a plain old living room. Not when we’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

The knot in my stomach loosens a little at their words, at the warmth and care woven into the details around me. Despite the nerves, a small smile pulls at my lips. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Tom says, his grin widening. “Wait until you see what we did with the cake. We made it ourselves.”

“Should I be worried?” I tease, earning a laugh from both of them.

“You should always be worried if those two get anywhere near an oven.”

I turn at the deep voice, and there he is.

Henry Sutton stands at the end of the “aisle,” his broad frame dominating the space like he was born to fill it. His silver-grayeyes find mine instantly, sweeping over me with an intensity that makes my pulse stutter.

“Shay,” he says, his voice rough and low, as if the single word carries more weight than it should.

It’s the first time I’ve heard him say my name like it truly matters. Like I matter.

I step toward him, my nerves and doubts momentarily forgotten. His eyes soften for a heartbeat before he composes himself, his features hardening into something unreadable. Still, the flicker of vulnerability lingers in the air between us.

“Hi,” I manage, the word inadequate but all I can muster.

He looks at me for a long, charged moment, his gaze steady and unflinching. “Let’s get this show on the road,” he grumbles, a faint trace of something softer in his tone. Something that makes me believe we might make it after all.

The room quiets, the air charged with anticipation, and I step forward, ready to meet whatever comes next.

The judge clears his throat, an older man with spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. “Take his hands,” he instructs.

My fingers find Henry’s, surprising both of us with their steadiness. His hands are rough, calloused, and warm. A shiver runs up my spine, not from cold, but from anticipation.

“Dearly beloved,” the judge begins in a voice that sounds like he’s used to giving orders, not uniting souls.

The living room suddenly seems too small for the enormity of what’s happening. The judge’s voice drones on, something aboutlifelong commitments and lawful wedded bliss, but his words are background noise to the electric current crackling between Henry and me.

“Shay?” Henry’s voice cuts through my daze, and I realize it’s my turn to say the vows.

“Right, yes. I do.” I stammer, hoping that covers all the promises I’m supposed to make.

Henry’s hands clasp mine steadily, but I swear I see a tremor in those broad shoulders. Maybe he’s not as unflappable as he always seems?

I take in every detail of him. The way his dark hair contrasts starkly with his pale shirt, the firm set of his jaw, and the light gray eyes that hold a hint of turbulent skies with a chance of tenderness. Gratitude lurks in those depths, a silent thank-you for stepping into this crazy arrangement. And maybe something more. Maybe something that looks like hope and reflects my hidden desires.

“Then by the power vested in me…” The judge is wrapping up, and suddenly, it’s official.

Henry leans forward, and I brace myself for the formality of a kiss to seal our business deal. But when his lips touch mine, it’s like a jolt of lightning to my heart—a heart that’s supposed to be practical and guarded. It’s a soft press, a whisper of a kiss, but it causes a fluttering in my chest that’s suspiciously like butterflies staging a coup.

As he pulls back, the warmth from his lips lingers, spreading heat up my neck. Our gazes lock, and at that moment, without a single word spoken, I know he felt it too. That inexplicablepull, the strange sensation of falling into something neither of us planned.

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