Hayley Elliott
“This is life or death. I need your help.”
Dillon sipped his apple cider, the steam evaporating into the cool October air—just like my hope of getting out of this. “Hardly, Grace. You’re being auctioned off as a date. You’ll survive.”
I paced behind the town square’s gazebo, hidden from the waiting crowd. Meanwhile, Dillon lounged on a haybale, his arm perched on top of a pumpkin—not a care in the world. He didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation. A date meant conversation. Conversation meant pretending I wasn’t an introvert . . . and completely in love with my oblivious best friend. “You know I can’t do this.”
He strolled toward me and grasped my shoulder. His lips quirked into that trademark smirk—my favorite since I was twelve and he’d moved next door. “You’ll be fine.”
“Easy for you to say, your parents aren’t auctioning you off like cattle.”
He laughed, sending tingles down my spine.
Stop that, Grace, you can’t have feelings for your best friend.
My admonition was pointless. This was Dillon Westfield—my best friend and crush since I’d turned sixteen and realized boys weren’t all terrible.
“Think of all the good you’re doing for the community.” He pointed toward the senior center. “This will help fund the Geri-Actives pickleball team jerseys.”
I gripped the basket Grammy had packed. She’d shoved it into my hands this morning, saying she wasn’t feeling up for the auction and I needed to take her place. Her pitiful cough hadn’t sold her story.
Dillon slipped his arm behind my back, short-circuiting my brain. A nasty little trick. He’d led me to the gazebo steps while I rambled until it was too late to escape.
His lips brushed my hair. “I’ve got a plan.” Quivers erupted throughout my body.
Then he pushed me up the stairs.
I stumbled into place next to Ervin, the Apple Festival auctioneer. “Look what we have here.” He peeked under the blue and white checkered cloth napkin and gasped. “Is this Maybel’s famous homemade apple pie?”
I nodded, my body numb at the sight of so many eyes staring at me. I might’ve grown up with each of the five hundred people in our town—all of whom seemed to be present—but that didn’t stop my freezing reaction.
My pulse sped until a familiar pair of bright hazel eyes caught my attention. Dillon beamed at me, his smile wide. My heart raced for a different reason. He gave two thumbs up.
The jerk.
Ervin spouted off numbers faster than I could count. My head spun, attempting to track the motion of apple-shaped paddles in the air. I opted to stare at my basket as though my life depended on it.
The torture finally concluded with an exuberant, “Sold,” and the bang of a gavel. “To the highest bidder yet, congratulations, Mr. Westfield. Grace, you can exit the gazebo and commence with your date.”
My head jerked to Ervin’s, then whipped to Dillon. He bought my basket?
I weaved through the crowd, receiving various claps on the back and congratulations, until I stood before Dillon. “Why?”
He slung his arm around my shoulder—a friendly gesture since we were kids—but it no longer felt that way to me. “Because I can’t resist a good apple pie, and Maybel makes the best.”
I wanted to laugh, keep things light, but I was tired of his ability to get close and not be affected. We walked to one of the picnic blankets reserved for the auction’s pie dates.
Instead of sitting, I put the basket on the ground and looked at him. “Will you stop that?”
“Stop what?”
I flailed my arms around. “The touching. The Rico Suave thing you’ve got going on.”
“I’m sorry?” His tone sounded puzzled, yet full of mirth.
“Touching me, whispering to me, rubbing my back…”
“Is that not what friends do?”
“No, Dillon, that’s not what friends do.” I crossed my arms feeling vulnerable. “That’s what couples do.”
He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Well, this is a proper date, isn’t it?”
I blinked. “What?”
He tilted his head toward the blanket. “We’re about to have a date.”
“We are?”
He took a small step forward, grasping the ends of my coat, his voice low. “If you want to.”
My eyes pricked. This was not possible. I was dreaming.
He dipped his head, his forehead almost touching mine. “I like you, Gracie Allister.”
“You do?”
He chuckled. “Yes. I have for years. I’ve just been waiting…” He paused, his confidence fading for once. “For the right moment.”
“You have?”
His warm, minty breath teased my lips in the crisp air. “Yes. We’ve been together in my mind for a while now. You’re the only girl for me. Always have been.” His Adam’s apple bobbed.
Tears trickled down my cheeks.
“Can I…can I kiss you?” His hands cradled my face, his thumbs swiping away the tears.
I bit my bottom lip, nervous and excited all at once. I nodded.
His lips met mine, tender and sweet. His hands slipped around my waist, holding me tight.
My arms crept around his neck, tugging him downward. I molded my lips to his, savoring the moment. For several seconds, I was swept away, completely unaware of our surroundings until applause erupted.
Dillon broke away, and we turned.
Our friends and neighbors faced us, cheering and whistling.
“About time!” someone shouted from the back.
My face heated, but Dillon’s smirk was back in place. “Did you plan this?”
“Did I have Maybel fake an illness so you’d be forced to take her place and I could finally have an excuse to go on a date with you? Yes, I did. Now…the kiss?” He tucked a strand of hair away from my face, slipping it behind my ear. “That was just a bonus.”
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