Page 3 of Singled Out

Naomi would love the hell out of this. It was exactly as she would have wanted it.

I felt the familiar, raw pang of grief in my chest at the thought of her. Instead of shoving it down deep as I often did, I took a full breath, picturing my friend and mentor with her beautiful smile. Just for a second.

“Cheers, Naomi,” I whispered, the corners of my eyes damp. I lifted my cocktail slightly, then took a drink.

I made my way back to my table, dabbing at my eyes, glad for the low light, smiling at people as I walked by.

Dessert had been served while I was in line for my drink, I noticed as I retook my seat next to Loretta Lawson, the town’s sixty-something gossip queen with a mostly good heart.

“Harper, hon, I didn’t know if you wanted dessert, so I just told them to give you some. Dakota too,” Loretta said. “If you don’t want it, I’ll sacrifice my figure and eat it for you.”

Laughing, I eyed the picture-perfect slice of lemon meringue pie. It was Naomi’s favorite, as I’d told the event planners when they’d asked. “I prefer to drink my dessert tonight,” I told Loretta, pushing the plate toward her.

“Bless your heart,” she said. “That cocktail looks almost as pretty as pie.” Her smile faded a little as she looked closer at my eyes, probably still damp. “You were close to Naomi Finley, weren’t you, dear?”

Ahh, shit. The sympathy in her voice caught me off guard, and my throat clogged with emotion. I nodded and took a drink to wash it away. “Yeah,” I managed with a faint smile as I set my glass down. I dabbed at the corner of one eye again and said, “Dammit,” then laughed. “Everything about tonight is so Naomi. It’s as if she’s still here.”

She had, in fact, been in on the initial planning. The fundraiser was her baby, her idea. Her life motto had been “Art for everyone,” and she’d been an untiring advocate particularly in funding art programs in schools throughout the state of Tennessee.

“Are you planning to bid on a bachelor?” Loretta asked as she dug into the second slice of lemon meringue.

“That’s what I want to know,” Dakota Dawson, who I’d come with, said as she sat to my left. She and I had become close over the past year as we both spent a lot of time at Naomi’s studio.

“You never know,” I said, not trying to be mysterious. I just hadn’t made up my mind yet.

Though I was a server at the Dragonfly Diner and perpetually low on funds, tonight I had money to spend. Dakota was the only one who knew my secret. Naomi had left me in charge of appropriating what she called her petty cash fund, money she’d set aside expressly to donate to her causes. I knew she wouldn’t care if I used it for the silent auction or to bid on a bachelor or just made a lump donation. She only insisted it went to the cause tonight. I had just over five K to donate.

As plates were cleared and two organizers appeared on the stage, gearing up to start the bachelor auction, Dakota leaned closer. “For real though, are you going to buy some man meat?”

“When you put it like that, how can I resist?” I grinned and sipped more pink vodka.

Loretta had turned back to discuss the meringue in great detail with Nancy Solon, her fellow Dragonfly Diamond, enabling me to confess to Dakota without being heard.

“Nothing at the silent auction really spoke to me.”

“Not the getaway weekend here at the Marks?” Dakota asked.

I shook my head.

Her grin widened. “Man meat it is then.” She leaned over so she was right next to my ear. “I think you should bid on Max.”

“Your brother?” I asked in surprise.

“I dare you.”

My brows went up as I considered the idea. Max Dawson was…well, good-looking, loved by everyone, and about ten years older than me.

“He works for my dad,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, so?” Dakota’s smile was full of trouble, and that did nothing to turn me away. If anything, it egged me on. I’d never been one to shy away from trouble. “He’d be good arm candy for the gala.”

“A handsome-as-hell former-NFL player as my date would fit the bill, yes.” I frowned. “Why do you want me to bid on your brother though?” I asked, suspicious.

“Someone’s going to win him. Might as well be you,” she said flippantly.

“Sure, okay. What’s the real reason?”

Her smile disappeared, and she eyed the other eight people at the table. No one was paying attention to us. The four older ladies—Loretta, Nancy, Dotty, and Darlene—were wrapped up in dessert talk, something about the proper amount of butter. On the other side of Dakota, two of the Henry brothers, Seth and Knox, and their better halves were also deep in discussion.