Page 1 of Auctioned to the Mountain Man

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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 likethat.” 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 amsosorry.” 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.”

Iamflushed. 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 fullof 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.

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