Page 2 of Auctioned to the Reaper

Wonderful. My biggest supporter is a drunk pirate.

“Autumn Hayes!” the auctioneer announces. “Owner of The Witching Hour bakery, maker of the finest cinnamon rolls in Colorado, and, according to my sources, currently single!”

A few whistles rise from the crowd.

I smile through clenched teeth.

“Thank you, Jerry. Really appreciate the public announcement about my love life.”

The audience laughs.

Jerry, our town’s enthusiastic real estate agent turned amateur auctioneer, winks at me. “Just helping you out, sweetheart.”

“Help someone else.”

“Now, gentlemen, we’re auctioning one romantic dinner date with this lovely lady. All proceeds benefit the Devil’s Peak Library. Shall we start the bidding at five hundred dollars?”

A paddle shoots up near the front.

“Five hundred!”

Another follows.

“One thousand!”

Okay. This isn’t terrible. A few hours of awkward conversation over steak. I can survive that.

“Two thousand!”

“Three!”

I glance toward Clara, who gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up from beside the stage.

I’m going to put salt in her coffee tomorrow.

“Five thousand dollars!”

My attention snaps toward the bidder.

Richard Whitcomb.

Fifty-something, divorced twice, owns half the commercial properties in Devil’s Peak, and once spent twenty minutes explaining cryptocurrency to me while I was trying to close my bakery.

Oh, absolutely not.

I lean toward Jerry’s microphone. “Does the winning bidder have to pass a background check?”

Laughter ripples through the ballroom.

Richard chuckles.

I don’t.

“Five thousand dollars!” Jerry repeats. “Do I hear seventy-five hundred?”

Silence.

Richard looks smug.