Page 72 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
This isn’t a big deal. That’s what I keep telling myself.
I want to walk in, watch the show, clap politely, and prove—to myself, to Angel, to Clément—that this is just a silly bit of fun. That I’m mature. Unbothered. Zen.
And maybe if the bidding starts and things don’t get too ridiculous, and I have a number in mind that wouldn’t cause my bank account to implode… I could raise my paddle.
Just once.
It might be nice to see his face when he realizes I came. Like at the first game.
Who am I? What have I become?There’s no chance I can bid.
By the time we arrive at the auction, Hawk River Lodge has been transformed into something between a small-town gala and a reality dating show. The string lights overhead cast a warm golden glow, and the rows of chairs have been replaced with round tables, each one decked out in maple-leaf centerpieces and “Save Maple Falls” flyers. A banner strung across the far wall reads: “One Date to Save a Town!” in glittery gold letters.
“This is ridiculous,” I whisper.
“It’s festive,” Angel corrects, her arm looped through mine like she’s escorting me to prom.
Scotty holds open the door with a grin. “Festiveandridiculous. That’s the sweet spot, Fontaine.”
The room is filling fast. Local families, couples, clusters of women dressed like they just hopped off a party bus from Seattle. I glance around, immediately scanning for Clément—before I catch myself and turn my eyes back to Angel’s sequined cardigan. It’s a good cardigan. Distracting.
Angel and Scotty guide me toward a table off to the side near the cupcake display, which Neesha is manning with thelaser focus of someone who’s deeply suppressing the urge to throw baked goods around. Her dress is stunning. I see the way her jaw tightens every time one of the front-row out-of-town glamazons lets out a high-pitched giggle.
“What kind of event is this? I thought this was for charity,” I ask.
“It is,” Angel says. “And maybe just a little bit for drama. But good drama. The kind where no one dies and everyone ends up with cupcakes.”
Ashlyn takes the stage, microphone squealing slightly before adjusting. “Ladies, ladies,ladies!Welcome to the first-ever Ice Breakers Bachelor Auction! Where fantasy meets fundraising! I’m going to come around to distribute the paddles.”
I wince. “Was ‘cringe’ part of the mission statement?”
Scotty chuckles. “It’s all in good fun. Don’t think too hard.”
But Iamthinking too hard.
I’m thinking about the woman in front of me in the rhinestone-studded mini-dress who already whispered “dibs” on someone’s name I didn’t catch. I’m thinking about how Clément is going to be on that stage, right there. I’m thinking about how this might be nothing more than a hockey-themed popularity contest.
But mostly, I’m thinking about how I curled my hair for this.
“Paddles!” Ashlyn calls out as she weaves between tables with a stack of numbered fans tucked under one arm and a clipboard in the other. “Folks, we’re taking names and donations for the cause!”
She stops at our table and Angel immediately lifts both hands in refusal. “Nope, I’m taken. I’m just here for a donation, snacks, and the post-auction gossip.”
Ashlyn laughs. “Respect.”
Scotty, on the other hand, plucks a paddle from the stack and waves it in the air like he’s at a rodeo.
“It’s for charity, who knows?” Scotty chuckles.
“You’re impossible.” Angel elbows him in the ribs, but she’s smiling.
Then Ashlyn turns to me.
“Oh!” Her whole face lights up. “Marcy, I didn’t think we’d see you here tonight. This is wonderful!”
I force a smile. “Consider me here in my official capacity. Accountant. Supporter of civic events.”
“Well, since you’re here…” She fans out a few paddles like a magician about to do a card trick. “You’ll need one of these.”
