Prologue and first half of Chapter One–Introduces almost entire “cast of characters”, establishes tone and relationships, and a tiny foreshadowing of conflict.
Lexi burst through the front door as if hell itself was on her heels. She slammed the door quickly behind her, the bang echoing through the house. ‘What the hell was that?’ she thought. Hot tears stung her eyes as she pressed back against the cool wood. Her heart was hammering, racing a hundred miles an hour, as she took a deep, shaky breath. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This is not how it started out’.
Her entire body was trembling, fear and shame combining into an emotion she couldn’t name, rising to the surface and threatening to suffocate her. She turned on rubbery legs and locked both locks, then tossed her evening bag onto the sofa. It bounced off the taut white slipcover, smacked the coffee table, and landed on the floor with a thud.
“Oh fuck off!” she snapped.
Steadying herself with a hand on the back of the sofa, she toed off her high heels and abandoned them there on the floor. She shrugged out of her coat and dropped it, leaving it to cover her shoes in a messy heap.
The salmon-pink silk of the floor-length dress she wore clung to her curves and shimmered as she moved, weaving her way into the kitchen.
Though she’d already made it far past the point of tipsy, she yanked open the fridge and grabbed the half-full bottle of Veuve Clicquot, then pulled a delicate pink flute from the cupboard. With shaking hands she wrenched the stopper from the bottle and poured, a stream of effervescent bubbles flowing over the side of her glass, forming a fizzy, frothy puddle on the butcher-block island.
“God damn waste,” she grumbled, ripping a paper towel from the roll and soaking up the runaway bubbles.
Exhausted and pissed off at herself, she carried her glass and the bottle into the living room and sank into her favorite recliner. She held the bottle in one hand and took a sip of the sparkling liquid, feeling the bubbles tickling her tongue before sliding down her throat.
‘Champagne,’ she thought with a bitter shake of her head. ‘It was God damn champagne that got me into this fucking mess.’
She leaned back in the chair, the sweating bottle causing water-mark Rorschach shapes on the silk of her dress, and took a second sip. Her eyes slipped closed, her mind traveling back to the hot June day when it had all begun.
“Oh my God,” Christi gushed, dramatically fanning herself with a paper plate as her husband Ross stepped onto the stage. “Is he not the hottest thing you’ve seen in your life? Ever?”
She scrambled out of her camp chair, feet landing on the pine-needle-covered ground, as she stood to get a better view. Red curls cascaded down her back, and she flipped several corkscrews out of her face.
All the men up on the “auction block” that afternoon wore the same attire. Army-green cargo pants and a tight-as-hell black t-shirt showed off the granite they had–even in retirement–in place of flesh and bone.
Janey’s eyes twinkled. “I love how you still swoon over him after all these years.”
Christi turned her pretty green eyes to Janey. “Swoon? I don’t swoon!”
“You do,” Lexi laughed. “You totally swoon!”
A lovely shade of pink crept into Christi’s cheeks and she smiled. “Well he is totally swoon-worthy.”
Janey nodded. “He is at that!”
“They all are,”Lexi added as she scanned the group of men. “All twenty-six of them!”
“You know, Lex, some of them are single…”
“Christiiiii…” Lexi didn’t need to finish the warning.
“I’m just saying, you can bid on one of them, and then he can do your bidding!”
Janey snorted, almost choking on her champagne.
“No, Chris.” Lexi’s tone was firm; they’d been through this before. “Just no. Not gonna go there so don’t even start.”
“Fine.” Christi made a face and dropped the subject, but Lexi knew she wasn’t giving up.
The three of them turned their attention back to the stage where Janey’s husband Hunter held the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice booming across the lawn, commanding attention.
Fifteen rows of white wooden chairs were arranged facing the stage in a graceful arc on the lawn, and the audience waited expectantly, afternoon cocktails in hand.
Hunter was one of the event’s long-time organizers and years ago had appointed himself official Emcee and Auctioneer of the twice-yearly events–and he played the role well.
“May I present our final gentleman up for bid this afternoon (saving the best for last), Mr. Ross Morrison.”
Ross stepped forward and an appreciative murmur rolled through the crowd. His well-built body was obvious, even through his clothes.
“Mr. Morrison served in the US Marine Corp for thirty years before retiring four years ago, and I’m sure he misses the hard work.”
There was a light flutter of laughter.
“Please take note of the sheer craftsmanship of this handsome man’s physique.”
Ross rotated slowly, muscles bunching as he flexed, while Hunter pointed out his attributes with a long cane.
“These enormous biceps,” he lightly tapped Ross’s arm, “are made for heavy lifting and hauling; these muscular legs are built for climbing ladders, and this very fine ass,” Hunter gave his butt a cheeky nudge, “is nice to look at while he’s accomplishing the aforementioned tasks.”
The audience roared with laughter. Most of the attendees had been coming to these charity auctions for years and they enjoyed Hunter’s humor.
“God he loves hamming it up for these events.” Janey tossed her head, the white-blonde highlights in her short, spiky hair glinting in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the tall pines overhead.
“Now,” Hunter continued, “before you all get too excited, I should mention that Ross is very much spoken for. He’s married to Christi–the beautiful redhead back there with my gorgeous wife Janey.”
He pointed towards the pines, and Christi, still standing, gave the crowd a playful bow.
“She is one lucky lady to come home to this prime specimen every night. But for one entire day, he’ll be at the beck and call of the highest bidder. So, let’s start the bidding at $200.
“$350!” a woman’s voice rang out.
“Well thank you, Gayle–a generous opening! And remember, every dollar raised today goes to a fantastic cause. This year, both auctions–our Midsummer's Eve and Winter Wonderland Ball–support Homes For Our Troops. This is a remarkable non-profit dedicated to building and donating specially adapted homes for our severely wounded veterans. If you’d like more information, Janey has pamphlets on the back table.”
Hunter paused as the crowd shifted to look behind them, and Janey waved a pamphlet in the air.
“Now, back to the bidding.”
“$450!” a woman called out.
“$600!” came the gravelly voice of a thin, ancient man leaning on a cane.
The bids climbed until the final call. Ross went for $870 to their neighbor Gayle. Her husband Steve had suffered a stroke the previous year, and though he was slowly recovering, he was still in a wheelchair. Gayle’s “Honey-Do” list had been neglected for a year, and she looked both relieved and overjoyed at the thought of Ross tackling it.
There was enthusiastic applause as Hunter took a final moment to thank the men who’d volunteered to be auctioned off–most of them Marines, but several from other branches of the military. He offered a very special thank you to everyone who had bid so generously–whether they’d won the bid or not.
As the applause began to taper off, a woman’s sultry voice rose above the murmur of the audience.
“Don’t we get to bid on you, Hunter?”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
“Who was that?” Lexi raised an eyebrow at Janey.
“Who do you think?”
“Stephanie?”
“You got it.”
Christi grinned. “Are you gonna bid against her?”
Janey’s laughter tinkled through the trees. “Naw, let her buy him for a day. Poor thing’s been after Hunter since she moved to the community seven months ago. She doesn’t understand how he can be so oblivious to her charms.”
“Yeah,” Lexi agreed. “She doesn’t know how absolutely devoted he is to you.”
It was true. Hunter was completely in love with Janey. Even after thirty years of marriage–and thirty-five together–the adoration between them was palpable. Anyone who’d spent even five minutes in their company would never question it.
By this time, Ross was back on stage to auction off his friend, and Hunter, playing to the crowd, very slowly removed his light sport jacket. The sun reflected off his thick silver hair, and his broad shoulders and muscled arms drew more than a few appreciative sighs. For a man in his late 50s, Hunter was a stunner.
Janey caught her runaway breath and grabbed Christi’s paper plate, fanning herself with a theatrical flourish.
“Now I get why you needed this!”
“See?” Christi laughed. “Now who’s swooning?”
Stephanie began the bidding at $1,000, a self-satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She clearly assumed nobody would bid higher. But Maddie, Lexi’s beloved next-door-neighbor, wasn’t letting her off that easily. She sat calmly, hands resting peacefully in her lap, and raised the stakes.
Maddie knew Hunter would help her with anything she needed (as Lexi’s husband Mark had done when he was alive), but this wasn’t only about help. She knew Stephanie wanted Hunter, and it was obvious Maddie wanted to make her work–and pay–for him.
Bid by bid, the number climbed. When Stephanie’s bid of $1,450 was accepted, Maddie turned to Janey and gave her a sly wink.
Suddenly, a high-pitched, piercing scream tore through the air.
Lexi jumped to her feet, hands clamped over her ears. Two little girls stood at the far edge of the lawn, next to the last row of chairs. The smaller one stood as rigid as stone, hands fisted at her sides. Her head was thrown back, eyes tightly shut and mouth wide open. Screaming as though she were being tortured. The older girl ran tight circles around her.
The shrieking went on and on, and Lexi wondered how a tiny child could make such an enormous racket. It was ear-splitting.
Finally, Stephanie–tall, blond, beautiful and visibly irritated–stormed over and seized both girls by the arms, giving them a stern shake. The scream abruptly stopped. Without a word, she marched them towards the community clubhouse, their matching, sunshine-yellow dresses swinging with each angry step.
Lexi turned to her friends, her expression deadpan.
“Have I told you today how happy I am I don’t have kids?”
“Every day,” Janey said with a smile. “And honestly? At times like this, I totally agree. Though I don’t have the strong aversion to them that you do.”
“I don’t have a strong aversion! I just never wanted them. Remember what my mother said?” She lifted her pitch to match her mother’s. “You’re just afraid you’ll have a child who’s exactly like you.”
“Yeah,” Christi laughed. “And I remember what you said back!”
As if on cue, the three of them recited in unison: “No, I’m afraid I’d be a mother just like you!”
“Oh my God!” Lexi grinned. “Have I told you that so often that you’ve both memorized it?”
“Pretty much!” Christi put a hand on Lexi’s arm. “But seriously, I thought it was pretty damn insightful for a 14-year-old.”
“Exactly!” Janey agreed.
“And J,” Lexi turned to Janey with affection, “you’re the one who actually gave me ‘permission’ to not want kids, remember?”
“Right. Because Hunter and I didn’t want them either. And I hated that she tried to make you feel guilty. It’s not for everyone.”
“True. You were the first couple I ever met that didn’t act like having kids was some universal requirement. Then I met you and Ross,” she looked at Christi, “and I realized hey, maybe this is more normal than I thought!”
Christi smiled warmly. “And look at us now. Bonded for life. I think it was kismet.”
“It was indeed.” Janey grabbed the half-bottle of champagne from the bucket of ice near her feet, and divided it between them. “To kismet.”
The three of them touched glasses, the sound like tiny crystal bells in a toast to friendship.
“To kismet!”
Prologue and first half of Chapter One–Introduces almost entire “cast of characters”, establishes tone and relationships, and a tiny foreshadowing of conflict. Lexi burst through the front door as if hell itself was on her heels. She slammed the door quickly behind her, the bang echoing through the house. ‘What the hell was that?’ she thought. Hot tears stung her eyes as she pressed back against the cool wood. Her heart was hammering, racing a hundred miles an hour, as she took a deep, shaky breath. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This is not how it started out’. Her entire body was trembling, fear and shame combining into an emotion she couldn’t name, rising to the surface and threatening to suffocate her. She turned on rubbery legs and locked both locks, then tossed her evening bag onto the sofa. It bounced off the taut white slipcover, smacked the coffee table, and landed on the floor with a thud. “Oh fuck off!” she snapped. Steadying herself with a hand on the back of the sofa, she toed off her high heels and abandoned them there on the floor. She shrugged out of her coat and dropped it, leaving it to cover her shoes in a messy heap. The salmon-pink silk of the floor-length dress she wore clung to her curves and shimmered as she moved, weaving her way into the kitchen. Though she’d already made it far past the point of tipsy, she yanked open the fridge and grabbed the half-full bottle of Veuve Clicquot, then pulled a delicate pink flute from the cupboard. With shaking hands she wrenched the stopper from the bottle and poured, a stream of effervescent bubbles flowing over the side of her glass, forming a fizzy, frothy puddle on the butcher-block island. “God damn waste,” she grumbled, ripping a paper towel from the roll and soaking up the runaway bubbles. Exhausted and pissed off at herself, she carried her glass and the bottle into the living room and sank into her favorite recliner. She held the bottle in one hand and took a sip of the sparkling liquid, feeling the bubbles tickling her tongue before sliding down her throat. ‘Champagne,’ she thought with a bitter shake of her head. ‘It was God damn champagne that got me into this fucking mess.’ She leaned back in the chair, the sweating bottle causing water-mark Rorschach shapes on the silk of her dress, and took a second sip. Her eyes slipped closed, her mind traveling back to the hot June day when it had all begun. “Oh my God,” Christi gushed, dramatically fanning herself with a paper plate as her husband Ross stepped onto the stage. “Is he not the hottest thing you’ve seen in your life? Ever?” She scrambled out of her camp chair, feet landing on the pine-needle-covered ground, as she stood to get a better view. Red curls cascaded down her back, and she flipped several corkscrews out of her face. All the men up on the “auction block” that afternoon wore the same attire. Army-green cargo pants and a tight-as-hell black t-shirt showed off the granite they had–even in retirement–in place of flesh and bone. Janey’s eyes twinkled. “I love how you still swoon over him after all these years.” Christi turned her pretty green eyes to Janey. “Swoon? I don’t swoon!” “You do,” Lexi laughed. “You totally swoon!” A lovely shade of pink crept into Christi’s cheeks and she smiled. “Well he is totally swoon-worthy.” Janey nodded. “He is at that!” “They all are,”Lexi added as she scanned the group of men. “All twenty-six of them!” “You know, Lex, some of them are single…” “Christiiiii…” Lexi didn’t need to finish the warning. “I’m just saying, you can bid on one of them, and then he can do your bidding!” Janey snorted, almost choking on her champagne. “No, Chris.” Lexi’s tone was firm; they’d been through this before. “Just no. Not gonna go there so don’t even start.” “Fine.” Christi made a face and dropped the subject, but Lexi knew she wasn’t giving up. The three of them turned their attention back to the stage where Janey’s husband Hunter held the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice booming across the lawn, commanding attention. Fifteen rows of white wooden chairs were arranged facing the stage in a graceful arc on the lawn, and the audience waited expectantly, afternoon cocktails in hand. Hunter was one of the event’s long-time organizers and years ago had appointed himself official Emcee and Auctioneer of the twice-yearly events–and he played the role well. “May I present our final gentleman up for bid this afternoon (saving the best for last), Mr. Ross Morrison.” Ross stepped forward and an appreciative murmur rolled through the crowd. His well-built body was obvious, even through his clothes. “Mr. Morrison served in the US Marine Corp for thirty years before retiring four years ago, and I’m sure he misses the hard work.” There was a light flutter of laughter. “Please take note of the sheer craftsmanship of this handsome man’s physique.” Ross rotated slowly, muscles bunching as he flexed, while Hunter pointed out his attributes with a long cane. “These enormous biceps,” he lightly tapped Ross’s arm, “are made for heavy lifting and hauling; these muscular legs are built for climbing ladders, and this very fine ass,” Hunter gave his butt a cheeky nudge, “is nice to look at while he’s accomplishing the aforementioned tasks.” The audience roared with laughter. Most of the attendees had been coming to these charity auctions for years and they enjoyed Hunter’s humor. “God he loves hamming it up for these events.” Janey tossed her head, the white-blonde highlights in her short, spiky hair glinting in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the tall pines overhead. “Now,” Hunter continued, “before you all get too excited, I should mention that Ross is very much spoken for. He’s married to Christi–the beautiful redhead back there with my gorgeous wife Janey.” He pointed towards the pines, and Christi, still standing, gave the crowd a playful bow. “She is one lucky lady to come home to this prime specimen every night. But for one entire day, he’ll be at the beck and call of the highest bidder. So, let’s start the bidding at $200. “$350!” a woman’s voice rang out. “Well thank you, Gayle–a generous opening! And remember, every dollar raised today goes to a fantastic cause. This year, both auctions–our Midsummer's Eve and Winter Wonderland Ball–support Homes For Our Troops. This is a remarkable non-profit dedicated to building and donating specially adapted homes for our severely wounded veterans. If you’d like more information, Janey has pamphlets on the back table.” Hunter paused as the crowd shifted to look behind them, and Janey waved a pamphlet in the air. “Now, back to the bidding.” “$450!” a woman called out. “$600!” came the gravelly voice of a thin, ancient man leaning on a cane. The bids climbed until the final call. Ross went for $870 to their neighbor Gayle. Her husband Steve had suffered a stroke the previous year, and though he was slowly recovering, he was still in a wheelchair. Gayle’s “Honey-Do” list had been neglected for a year, and she looked both relieved and overjoyed at the thought of Ross tackling it. There was enthusiastic applause as Hunter took a final moment to thank the men who’d volunteered to be auctioned off–most of them Marines, but several from other branches of the military. He offered a very special thank you to everyone who had bid so generously–whether they’d won the bid or not. As the applause began to taper off, a woman’s sultry voice rose above the murmur of the audience. “Don’t we get to bid on you, Hunter?” Laughter rippled through the crowd. “Who was that?” Lexi raised an eyebrow at Janey. “Who do you think?” “Stephanie?” “You got it.” Christi grinned. “Are you gonna bid against her?” Janey’s laughter tinkled through the trees. “Naw, let her buy him for a day. Poor thing’s been after Hunter since she moved to the community seven months ago. She doesn’t understand how he can be so oblivious to her charms.” “Yeah,” Lexi agreed. “She doesn’t know how absolutely devoted he is to you.” It was true. Hunter was completely in love with Janey. Even after thirty years of marriage–and thirty-five together–the adoration between them was palpable. Anyone who’d spent even five minutes in their company would never question it. By this time, Ross was back on stage to auction off his friend, and Hunter, playing to the crowd, very slowly removed his light sport jacket. The sun reflected off his thick silver hair, and his broad shoulders and muscled arms drew more than a few appreciative sighs. For a man in his late 50s, Hunter was a stunner. Janey caught her runaway breath and grabbed Christi’s paper plate, fanning herself with a theatrical flourish. “Now I get why you needed this!” “See?” Christi laughed. “Now who’s swooning?” Stephanie began the bidding at $1,000, a self-satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She clearly assumed nobody would bid higher. But Maddie, Lexi’s beloved next-door-neighbor, wasn’t letting her off that easily. She sat calmly, hands resting peacefully in her lap, and raised the stakes. Maddie knew Hunter would help her with anything she needed (as Lexi’s husband Mark had done when he was alive), but this wasn’t only about help. She knew Stephanie wanted Hunter, and it was obvious Maddie wanted to make her work–and pay–for him. Bid by bid, the number climbed. When Stephanie’s bid of $1,450 was accepted, Maddie turned to Janey and gave her a sly wink. Suddenly, a high-pitched, piercing scream tore through the air. Lexi jumped to her feet, hands clamped over her ears. Two little girls stood at the far edge of the lawn, next to the last row of chairs. The smaller one stood as rigid as stone, hands fisted at her sides. Her head was thrown back, eyes tightly shut and mouth wide open. Screaming as though she were being tortured. The older girl ran tight circles around her. The shrieking went on and on, and Lexi wondered how a tiny child could make such an enormous racket. It was ear-splitting. Finally, Stephanie–tall, blond, beautiful and visibly irritated–stormed over and seized both girls by the arms, giving them a stern shake. The scream abruptly stopped. Without a word, she marched them towards the community clubhouse, their matching, sunshine-yellow dresses swinging with each angry step. Lexi turned to her friends, her expression deadpan. “Have I told you today how happy I am I don’t have kids?” “Every day,” Janey said with a smile. “And honestly? At times like this, I totally agree. Though I don’t have the strong aversion to them that you do.” “I don’t have a strong aversion! I just never wanted them. Remember what my mother said?” She lifted her pitch to match her mother’s. “You’re just afraid you’ll have a child who’s exactly like you.” “Yeah,” Christi laughed. “And I remember what you said back!” As if on cue, the three of them recited in unison: “No, I’m afraid I’d be a mother just like you!” “Oh my God!” Lexi grinned. “Have I told you that so often that you’ve both memorized it?” “Pretty much!” Christi put a hand on Lexi’s arm. “But seriously, I thought it was pretty damn insightful for a 14-year-old.” “Exactly!” Janey agreed. “And J,” Lexi turned to Janey with affection, “you’re the one who actually gave me ‘permission’ to not want kids, remember?” “Right. Because Hunter and I didn’t want them either. And I hated that she tried to make you feel guilty. It’s not for everyone.” “True. You were the first couple I ever met that didn’t act like having kids was some universal requirement. Then I met you and Ross,” she looked at Christi, “and I realized hey, maybe this is more normal than I thought!” Christi smiled warmly. “And look at us now. Bonded for life. I think it was kismet.” “It was indeed.” Janey grabbed the half-bottle of champagne from the bucket of ice near her feet, and divided it between them. “To kismet.” The three of them touched glasses, the sound like tiny crystal bells in a toast to friendship. “To kismet!”