9. Naomi

By the time the silent auction got started, Tyler was gone. The pinch of disappointment at watching him drive off in his Jeep caught me off guard, but I hadn't really expected him to stick around. We'd said everything there was to say.

Either he would call or he wouldn't.

The trick now was to avoid getting my hopes up, both with him and the auction. Luckily, the auction part took care of itself once the bidding started.

My mom had insisted on handling the donations, and honestly, I was happy to let her do it. There were some things I sucked at, and asking for help was at the top of that list. Now, seeing everything the community contributed to help me save my business hit me right in the feels.

And the bids were crazy. Half of the stuff was going for more than it was worth.

My mom sidled up beside me with her hair in its trademark curls and her long, beige summer dress swishing in the warm breeze. "How are you doing?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Honestly? Trying like hell not to tear up."

She wrapped one tanned arm around my shoulders. "Because of the Fox boy or because of the auction?"

I scoffed. "The auction, obviously. Why would I get all teary-eyed over Tyler?"

Her responding smile was saccharine and more than a little devious. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

She was like the cat from that old cartoon, trying to hide the fact that he had that chirpy canary in his mouth when everyone could see that one bright yellow feather sticking out between his teeth. "You'll see."

An hour later, after an enormous showing of support for Harlowe's from friends, family, and more than a few people I was pretty sure I'd never laid eyes on before, the announcer motioned toward the parking lot. "We saved the best for last."

A familiar rumble shook my insides, and everyone in the crowd turned to watch the shiny black Impala slowly making its way down the wide cement walk leading to the outdoor pavilion, with my dad behind the wheel.

My stomach dropped. I turned to my mom who was absolutely beaming. "Is that..." I couldn't even finish the question.

The announcer waited until my dad was out of the car before going on. "What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is an immaculate 1969 Chevrolet Impala. This beauty was painstakingly restored several years ago, and she's been treated like a queen ever since."

"He didn't," I whispered.

"Oh, honey, he definitely did," my mom whispered right back.

"Why the hell would Tyler donate his car? He loves that thing."

She shot me a look that was the physical embodiment of her "Really?"

"For those of you who didn't have a chance to drool over this gorgeous machine earlier in the evening," the announcer went on, "I'll give you a couple of minutes to get a good look at her." He kept talking but I couldn't hear him over the swarm of questions buzzing in my head.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.

"Because Tyler asked her not to," Dad answered, coming up behind us wearing a knowing smile that just made me more frustrated.

Seriously? The man roped my parents into helping him?

"This is insane. Who does something like this in real life?"

"Apparently, Tyler Fox does," Dad said.

"What the hell was he thinking?" I asked, turning to Mom.

Dad stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Naturally, she took her sweet time leaning into his embrace before deigning to give me an answer. "You'll have to ask him."

"Sure, I'll just go..." I snapped my fingers and glared at her. "Oh wait, he left over an hour ago." Which just made the gesture that much sweeter more annoying.

If he hadn't asked me for a date before I found out about him donating his prized possession to the silent auction that was funding Harlowe's big move, it would have given me plenty of reason to doubt his sincerity.

Ditto for if he'd stuck around to see my reaction.

But no, the jerk had played this perfectly.

"Goddamn him," I muttered under my breath. If I'd had the money, I would have bid on it myself just so I could give it back to him.

My mom nudged me in the ribs with her elbow. "Don't let your pride ruin a moment like this, baby girl."

That was easier said than done.

"All right, folks," the announcer said, drawing the attention of the crowd. "Here's your chance to own this stunning classic. The bidding starts at twenty thousand dollars."

I watched in a stunned mixture of horror and giddy disbelief as paddle after paddle was raised. Several minutes later, during which I was pretty sure I forgot how to breathe, the winning bid left me standing there covering my mouth with a shaky hand so no one could see it gaping open.

Tyler's car raised enough money to cover the cost of the move and the renovations of the new space all on its own.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. I was pulled up on stage at some point and vaguely recalled thanking everyone for their support, but I left without finding out what the final tally was on everything. All I knew was that it was more than I'd dared to hope for, thanks in no small part to Tyler.

When I got home, I was still buzzing with energy. Rather than give in to the urge to show up at Tyler's house uninvited, I went into deep cleaning mode to distract myself. I swept, mopped, vacuumed, and pulled everything out of the fridge and cleaned all the shelves, drawers, and racks. I even cleaned the oven—which I normally hated doing—with poor Sparrow casting worried looks at me as he followed me from room to room.

"It's okay, buddy. I'm just a little wired," I said, crouching down to kiss him on the head. He grumbled the way he always did, but my reassurance didn't have the soothing effect I was hoping for.

At two in the morning, when I couldn't bring myself to clean anymore but I still felt like I had enough energy to climb a mountain, I took a shower and got dressed. Then I stood at my front door with my keys in my hand for a solid five minutes while I argued with myself about whether showing up at Tyler's house in the middle of the night was a good idea.

I was the one who made the move on my porch. Maybe being a little tipsy gave me a kind of courage I wouldn't have had otherwise, but that slight buzz had nothing to do with the fact that I wanted him.

Yeah, it hurt when he ghosted me, but even before tonight, he'd been trying to make up for it.

I cast a questioning look at Sparrow, who was perched on the sofa watching me with his head quirked to one side. "What do you think? Bark once for stay and twice for go."

I didn't think for even a second that he would understand what I was saying. Sparrow was a smart pup, but he was still a dog. Much to my surprise, my seventy-pound furry genius let out two low woofs.

Am I really going to make a decision like this based on a barking dog?

As if he could read my thoughts, Sparrow let out two more barks, only this time they were sharper and more insistent. Like when he knew I was hiding treats behind my back.

"Okay, fine. I'll go, but if this backfires, it's on you," I said, not meaning a word of it.

I swung the door open and let out a yelp when I spotted a shadowed figure coming up my steps.

"It's technically tomorrow," Tyler said, holding up an oddly shaped bouquet.

"That doesn't look like flowers."

"That's because it's not." He handed me the strange bundle, and it took me a minute to realize what I was holding.

I eyed him, biting back a smile. "It also doesn't look like it's for me."

"It is. Kind of." He shrugged in that casual way of his and rubbed the back of his fingers along his scruffy jaw.

I shook my head. "I can't believe you're trying to win me over by spoiling my dog." Judging by the collection of toys and treats I was holding, wrapped in brown craft paper in a way that made it look like an actual bouquet, that was exactly what he was doing.

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth as his gaze raked down my body. "Someone told me you're not a fan of flowers."

That one look left me feeling somehow overdressed and exposed in the short, flowy peach dress, cropped jacket, and ankle boots I'd thrown on. "You realize it's three in the morning?"

"Couldn't sleep. So, I figured I would leave this on your mat and call you later. But it looks like you were fixing to leave." A hint of disappointment colored the last bit. "Hot date?"

Was it bad that I found his dismay endearing? Or that I was tempted to torture him?

I took a page from his book and let my gaze drift down his body. He was wearing a button-up shirt that looked as soft as butter the way it clung to his frame. His sleeves were rolled up his forearms, revealing delicious cords of muscle. And, of course, he had on his trademark worn and torn jeans.

Seriously, for all the years we'd spent tormenting each other, how had I not taken more time to appreciate his physique.

Probably because I was too busy coming up with biting remarks to throw back in his face.

"Do you own a pair of jeans that doesn't have holes?" I asked.

The left side of his mouth quirked up. "Probably. Why? Are the holes a problem?"

"Yeah."

He eased a little closer. "Because you like them?"

A corny joke about washing pants in Windex flitted through my mind, and I huffed out a laugh. "Maybe." I glanced out to the street where his Jeep was parked and remembered half the reason I'd decided to drive over to see him in the first place. I leveled him with a serious look. "We need to talk about the car."

"Or," he paused and ticked his head to the side before going on, "we don't."

A powerful need to argue that point rose up inside me. Instead of opening my mouth and saying something I might regret, I pulled in a steadying breath and set the bundle of canine goodies on the porch swing. "Am I at least allowed to say thank you?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Only if you want to make me uncomfortable."

Oh, I did, for so many reasons.

"Why did you do it, Tyler?"

He offered me a lazy shrug. "It was time to let it go."

"Then you sell it. That's what most people would do with a car like that."

"She deserved a better send off than that, and she went to a cause I happen to care about," he said, his voice dipping low. "A lot."

I smoothed my hands over my hips. He was killing me with his words, but so was the fact that he wasn't closing the distance between us. That was his move, wasn't it? Say pretty things and move in close, letting his warmth and that delicious, masculine scent of his wrap around me and dissolve my defenses.

"You never answered my question," he said.

I narrowed my eyes and thought back. "About the hot date?" Was that why he wasn't moving?