Maddie presses a hand to her mouth, but she’s giggling too hard to stop. Her eyes are glued to Jamison with a mix of horror, appreciation, and embarrassment that would have made me laugh if I wasn’t trying so hard not to toss my cookies.
“Forget it. We’ll talk later.” I settle back in my chair, nibbling on my lip as Jamison reaches the end of the catwalk and does a booty-shaking dance that is ridiculous enough to be funny, but still sexy enough to have all the ladies making noise.
Jamison is the perfect first man out—gorgeous and friendly, but silly and outrageous enough to put everyone at ease.
Everyone, except me.
As Mitzy starts the bidding and women shout dollar amounts from different corners of the room, I slide lower and lower in my seat. The chances that Jamison will see me from fifty feet away are slim, but I’m not willing to risk it.
In fact, I plan to make my escape from this table of frisky old ladies as soon as Jamison disappears behind the curtains.
This was a dumb idea.
I’d be better off writing Jake a “let’s be friends or politely ignore each other” letter, sending him a singing telegram, or maybe having a fruit basket and a month’s worth of venison steak delivered to the Hansen family compound as a peace offering.
Or maybe, if I put my mind to it, I can manage to avoid seeing him in person ever again. Considering the firehouse is directly across the street from Icing, our new bakery, that could be difficult, but I’m a resourceful woman. I run multiple wings of a successful business empire, for God’s sake, I can certainly avoid one—or two—small town firefighters.
I was ready to tackle Jake, but Jake and Jamison are a different kettle of fish.
I seriously doubt Jamison told Jake what happened my last night in Bliss River—Jamison would have been in hot water, too—but it doesn’t matter if Jake knows. I know, and Jamison knows, and that’s enough embarrassing knowing to create problems.
We were all so young and so much time has passed since then, but my gut tells me this particular secret isn’t the kind of thing that ages well. It’s the kind of thing that’s best never spoken of. Not even to my mom or sister.
Mitzy ends the bidding—awarding Jamison to a gorgeous blonde at a table near the front who shelled out eight hundred dollars for the privilege—and I lean close to Maddie again.
“I’m not feeling well all of a sudden,” I whisper as Jamison struts off the stage to thunderous applause. “I’ll wait in the car. Come out whenever you’re ready. No rush.”
“No, you can’t leave.” Maddie gasps for breath as she grabs my wrist and holds on tight, her eyes filled with tears from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry I couldn’t answer before. I was spazzing. Oh my God. Yes, Jamison moved back a few months ago.”
“You didn’t tell me,” I say, keeping my tone light. I’ve never told Maddie what happened with Jamison, so I can’t very well fault my sister for not keeping me up to date on all the youngest-Hansen-brother gossip.
Maddie wipes her eyes. “Sorry. I’ll catch you up later, but you have to stay. This is so much fun. Stay. Have fun with me.”
I hesitate. I haven’t seen Maddie enjoying herself this much in ages. A part of me wants to stay and giggle with my sister, but the part of me that’s reeling from seeing Jamison again needs out of here—ASAP.
I’m about to order Maddie to have fun without me and make a run for the exit, when the curtain parts again and I lose the ability to form words. Or move. Or drag my gaze from the stage.
There, wearing nothing but black jeans and a black Bliss River Fire Department baseball cap, is the man I came for.
My breath catches and a horrible, excited-yet-also-miserable feeling swells in my chest. It’s the same feeling from when Jake turned and walked away from me at the store yesterday, but this time he doesn’t know I’m watching.
This time, I can let my gaze linger, taking in every inch of the stunning man my high school sweetheart has become.
Jake doesn’t strut down the catwalk like his little brother; he owns the stage like the captain of a ship, like a Roman commander leading his half-naked army into battle.
With his tanned skin, broad shoulders, chiseled chest, and deliciously narrow hips, Jake is every bit the beefcake Jamison is. But that isn’t what makes the crowd suck in its collective breath in appreciation as he reaches the end of the catwalk and takes off his hat, his tousled brown hair flopping over one eye as he bows to the ladies on either side of the stage.
No, it isn’t his muscles, the strong planes of his face, or those clever, dark brown eyes that make it impossible for me to look away. It’s the way he holds himself, the way he moves—like a creature completely at home in his own skin.