Kyle shot a look at Gracie that clearly conveyed what he really thought—the bachelor’s block sounded like sheer agony. But he shrugged and said, “Okay, I guess. For charity.”
“For charity,” Constance agreed merrily, planting another kiss on the young doctor’s cheek. “Don’t worry, you won’t be sorry.”
Constance immediately skipped off to speak to a nearby group of women, no doubt to plant another seed for charity. Gracie took another sip of her punch and watched Kyle over the top of her cup.
“I already am sorry,” Kyle murmured, taking a sip of his own drink.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“Don’t worry, you’ll live.”
“Does she do that to everyone?” he asked, gesturing toward Constance. “I’ve never felt so bulldogged in all my life.”
“Constance?” Gracie shrugged and nodded. “Pretty much. She’s really amazing. She’s a wonder with organizing things. She’s almost single-handedly turned this town around since she arrived over five years ago. She’s gotten us all involved in any number of charity projects.”
“Like bachelor auctions,” he said with a groan, sounding none too happy.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, every other year, it’s a bachelorette auction.”
His eyes lit up with interest. “Yeah? Does that mean next year I get to bid on you?”
Gracie’s eyes met his, which were filled with warmth and humor, and something else she couldn’t quite put a name to.
Silently, she asked him the question she was afraid to voice aloud.
Next year?
Chapter Three
M emorial Day dawned brand-spanking bright and fresh as the birth of a newborn babe, full of sunshine and the pungent scent of spring flowers, everything a man could ask for in a holiday morning.
And it dawned far too early, in the opinion of Dr. Kyle Hart.
If he had his way, it would be snowing today.
Wisconsin was known for its late-spring snowstorms, wasn’t it?
Why couldn’t such a happy phenomenon as snow in springtime happen today?
But no.
It had to be the perfect day for a picnic.
Kyle winced as he tightened the knot on his bow tie and surveyed himself critically in the half mirror over the sink in his bathroom.
He’d said he’d be at the bachelor’s block auction today, and he would be there. But it wasn’t going to be an easy day. And he knew he wasn’t going to like it, no matter what Constance or Gracie or anyone else said about it.
Constance Laughlin had indicated he could wear whatever made him comfortable, from jeans to a sport coat; but in the end, he’d opted for his classic black tux, deciding he would give whatever lady bid on his chocolate the first-class afternoon she deserved. And he guessed he wanted to be different than the run-of-the-mill Safe Harbor man standing on the block.
Now that he had his tux on, though, he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right choice. For one thing, this was Safe Harbor, Wisconsin, not Houston, Texas. And he was going to a Memorial Day picnic, not a black-tie affair at a five-star hotel. He wanted to be different, but he didn’t want to show anybody up.
Besides, the suit reminded him a little too much of his old life, before he moved to Safe Harbor, when dressing up used to be the norm. When the pursuit of the almighty dollar had come at a devastating cost.
He’d lost his wife and his sweet, little infant daughter.
He glanced at his watch.
Whether he liked it or not, he was due at the bachelor’s block at the park.
Or more precisely, on the block.
He chuckled as he made his way to his full-size, extended-cab white pickup truck, a throwback to his Texas days. He was making way too much out of what was surely a really small subject.
How bad could it be?
The green on the hill was already filled to over-flowing with the residents of Safe Harbor when Kyle arrived at the park. Some folks milled around setting up picnic tables and stoking up grills, while others stood in groups talking with old friends, or threw Frisbees or footballs to each other.
It was a tranquil scene, something eminently small town. It was the sort of thing a painter would capture on canvas.
Kyle knew he’d never see such a gathering in Houston if he looked for a year. There was always an air of commerce in the big city, even when no one was selling anything.
Here, everyone looked genuinely relaxed. The air was fairly buzzing with anticipation of what the day would bring.
This was what he’d come to Safe Harbor for, this sense of belonging to something bigger than himself, and Kyle eagerly joined in, greeting those people he knew from the clinic. And he was more than happy to gulp down an early hot dog with Robert, Wendy and their two active boys, though it was only nine in the morning.
Constance checked in with him, reminding him of his ten o’clock obligation—as if he could forget. And Chelsea fluttered by to remind him—or was it to threaten him—that she intended to make the highest bid for him and take him home with her.
He could only hope some other Safe Harbor lady would take pity on him.
And while the news that Chelsea was after him like a fly to honey flustered him, it was even more troubling that he continued to scan the crowd without spotting so much as a glimpse of the flame-colored hair he was desperately watching for.
Where was Gracie?
Somehow, he thought he’d be able to get through this whole auction thing better if she was around for moral support.
And he’d just assumed she’d be here today, so much so that he hadn’t even thought to ask her outright. She was far too much of a social butterfly to miss such a big community event, and her heart and soul were in Safe Harbor.
She’d be here. She had to be.
He thought to ask Robert if he knew where Gracie was, but decided against it. He didn’t want to call attention to the fact he’d noticed Gracie’s absence, much less that it bothered him.
Kyle knew there were already rumors circulating, speculating on the relationship between Gracie and him. He didn’t want to stoke it up.
Besides, he knew Robert would use it as an opportunity to razz his old buddy, as he had done through all their years in medical school. All he needed was the extra ammunition, and Kyle wasn’t about to provide the fodder outright.
A barbershop quartet started singing a familiar gospel tune at the gazebo, which was Kyle’s cue to line up for the bachelor’s block. He straightened his suddenly tight bow tie and cleared his throat.
Ready or not, he was about to make his modeling debut, and it was a paid engagement.
He joined the group of his uncommon associates, most of whom he knew at least by sight, if not by name, behind the gazebo. Not a one of them looked half as nervous as he felt.
Constance was fretting about, consulting the clipboard in her hand and lining the men up elbow to elbow, then changing the order with a shake of her head; adjusting a shirt collar here, straightening a lock of hair there, mumbling under her breath all the while.
“Nervous?” he asked the man standing next to him, a young carpenter named Buck something-or-other who had done some work at the clinic.
“Hmm? Naw. Been doing this for years. Or at least, every other year.” Buck