Page 15 of Love Songs

We strolled on, coming to the Caldwell Crossing Library with grand steps leading up to a column-framed entrance. Above it was a sculpture of a roaring lion. The stone and wood buildinglooked like it had been added to several times over the years, none of it quite matching but somehow still working together.

“What’s going on up there?” Kirk asked.

I followed the tip of his chin to where Periwinkle Street crossed Main Street, and on the corner sat a squat brick building with solid black doors, over which a glowing, pink neon sign readLucy’s Pub. Parked cars and trucks lined the block. The doors swung open as a couple entered, and spotlights spilled out to dapple the sidewalk. Laughter, chatter, and someone speaking over a microphone echoed down the street toward us.

“Let’s go see,” I said, and excitement fluttered in my stomach. Maybe this town wasn’t all that sleepy after all.

When we reached the pub, I spotted a large sandwich board outside the entrance announcing a bachelor auction happening tonight. Twelve of Caldwell Crossing’s most eligible bachelors were available for onetime dates with the winning bidders, and all proceeds going to the Harmony Lake Animal Rescue League charity fund. Photos of the bachelors filled the bottom half of the signage—and the hot firefighter was one of them.

“Well, I’ll be,” Kirk said, smirking. “Look who’s up for auction.”

I rolled my eyes and stated the obvious. “It’s a charity fundraiser.”

“Yep.” Kirk’s eyes glinted in the light, and I knew what was coming. “Let’s go make a donation.”

I didn’t want to see the lieutenant again, not after the months-long hassle trying to convince him to sign off on our limited pyro and then setting the stage on fire with it. But the part of me that woke up and took notice of him—the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he cared without hesitation—when we’d met in person, couldn’t wait to get inside.

The pub was standing room only, and the bartender was doing brisk work mixing drinks with practiced flare. Streamersand banners hung from the rafters and swayed lazily above our heads. Bright spotlights focused on the small stage on one side of the pub, where an attractive brown-haired man was wearing a black tuxedo and making James Bond poses. The auctioneer, a dark-haired woman standing at the foot of the stage with a microphone, encouraged and relayed the bids.

“Two-fifty going twice,” the auctioneer called enthusiastically. “Last chance to get a rare date with Deputy Chris before Rebecca comes to her senses.”

Laughter rolled through the crowd at what had to be an inside joke only locals would get, and a strange sense of being left out hit me. I pushed it down as we paid our entry fee to a pair of shrewd-eyed women at a card table.

A woman near the stage raised her hand. “Two-seventy-five!”

When no one else bid after three calls, the auctioneer shouted, “Sold to Lindsey James for two hundred and seventy-five dollars!”

I scanned the cheering audience while the next bachelor prepared to take the stage, and my gaze snagged on a group of men in matching black tuxedos gathered in the back corner. One stood out above the rest. Figuratively and literally. He was the tallest man by a head, with broad shoulders and that tousled blond hair I’d recognize anywhere.

He took the stage, and Lord have mercy . . . Lieutenant Holliston was hot AF in a tux.

BY THE TIMEI got to Lucy’s Pub and pulled the tuxedo out of the back of my truck, I was still cranky. I couldn’t believe Dallas Blade had the nerve to argue with me about his cell phone causing the fire, and then demanding I replace the damn thing.

He’d come at me like a pissed off bull, not backing down, and I had to give him props for that. I know I can be an imposing force, seeing as I’m six-foot-four and one-ninety-five of well-earned muscle. But I would never hurt a fly. I might raise my voice in the heat of the moment, but I took my frustrations out mountain biking the most extreme trails I could find or jumping out of airplanes or whitewater kayaking. Anything that demanded one hundred percent of my physical and mental focus.

But that grudging respect, not to mention attraction for him, irritated me more.

I huffed out a cleansing breath of air and wiped the whole thing from my mind. The Founders Day music fest was over, and I’d never see Dallas again. He could go back to being an abstract fantasy in my mind.

My phone pinged, and I checked it to see several messages in the group chat with my lifelong best friends. They’d all left the fair early and were too comfortable to venture back out,so none of them would be here for the auction. Part of me was disappointed, because that was exactly what I worried would happen when they all found their significant others. I’d be the odd man out.

But on the other hand, they’d be teasing me relentlessly if they were here, so it was better that they weren’t.

I opened the chat thread to find a whole slew of jokes about me in a penguin suit and them putting bets on whether I would get the highest bid, or if Chris—Ryan’s sister Rebecca’s boyfriend—would rate as the most eligible bachelor in Caldwell Crossing. Though why Chris was in the auction at all, I didn’t know. He and Rebecca were a ring away from married.

I leaned against my truck as I typed out a reply to the guys.

Me:Ha-ha,losers. Add me to the pool. On me for the win, obvs.

Sam: The odds are five-to-one.

Me:Five?

Haider:Yeah. Rebecca and Chris both bet against you.

Ryan: *crying-laughing face emoji*

Me:Whatever. I’m taking those odds.

---