The Date Auction (21 page)

“But you're both strawberry blondes?”

“Yes. We're both strawberry blondes.” I want to tell him how much I've always liked his hair, which is rich and black and easily the most gorgeous head of hair I've ever seen. I guess it's probably better if I keep that to myself. “I've always thought it was strange... my grandpa on my mom's side was from India, but Jamie is the only brunette in the family. I guess the Anglo-Saxon genes were pretty strong.” Now I'm just rambling.

“India? Really. Now that's interesting. I thought you looked a bit exotic.”

“I do?!” That's a first. I've always wished I looked exotic, but I don't.

“Definitely. You have almond-shaped eyes,” Harry says, “and lovely full lips. I love it when your lips treat me to a beautiful smile.”

I catch myself smiling as soon as he says that. Lately, I've been smiling a lot. After I was diagnosed with cancer, I haven't exactly had a reason to smile, but for the last few days I've been smiling more than I ever have. It's amazing what kind of an effect Harry Shaw has on me.

“You're sweet.” Then I quickly change the subject, because it feels awkward to talk about my physical appearance, which really isn't anything special. It never has been, and the cancer hasn't helped. “So, where are you staying in California? You didn't have to drive too far out of your way, I hope?”

“No. I'm only ten or fifteen minutes away. Not far at all,” Harry assures me. “I'm staying at a suite, which has a kitchenette. You might think it's strange, but I love having a kitchenette.”

“Really? Do you like to cook?”

“No. I'm terrible at it,” he answers with a chuckle. “It's just a nice to thing to have. It feels like a home away from home. It's much better than a hotel. It's like having... I guess you yanks would say it's like having an
apartment
.”

“And you Brits would call it a
flat
,” I fire back at him, “which really doesn't make sense, if you ask me.
Flat
? It sounds like something got squished.”

“Hmm. I never thought about that. I guess you're right.”

A few minutes later, we arrive at the park. Harry takes me to a secluded spot nestled between the trees. We have a view of a lake in the distance, which makes me wonder if he didn't scout the spot beforehand. When I see him spread a checkered picnic blanket, it reminds me of a scene from
The Date Auction
. “Do you remember Alaina and William's floor picnic?” I ask.

“I do.”

“That was based on fact. They really did have a floor picnic once. My brother told me about it.”

“I would think that having a picnic indoors would defeat the purpose of a picnic.” As we talk, he starts removing food from the wicker basket. “It makes me wonder how much of your book is true. For example... would you describe me as a
beautiful man
?” When he glances in my direction, Harry's eyebrow is devilishly raised.

“I... that is... I, um...” Suddenly, I wish I hadn't let him read the book. “Well... I mean... yeah. You're obviously really good-looking.”

“But
beautiful
?” he laughs. “I don't think that word's ever been used to describe me!”

“Oh, you'd be surprised...” I murmur. “You should go to tumblr. You have a strong following on there.”

“Tumblr? What's tumblr?”

I should probably abort the conversation here. A year ago, I made an animated gif of Harry's tongue slipping out of his mouth, and I wouldn't want him to discover that. “So...” Clearing my throat, I deftly change the subject. “What kind of food did you pack?”

“Chicken salad.” He hands me a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. “I should have asked you what you would want to eat.”

It looks like the chicken salad's made the wax paper gooey, but in a good way. “I like chicken salad. Did you make these sandwiches yourself?”

“I did. I got to use my beloved kitchenette.” He hands me a bag of Lay's potato chips and winks. “I'm a seasoned chef now. Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsey better watch out.”

After taking a bite of my sandwich, I give him a nod. “Yeah, they'd better watch their backs. This is really good.” To my surprise, it's not really that bad. It's tangy, whereas I'm used to sweet chicken salad, but it's pretty tasty nonetheless.

“I'm assuming Lay's might be something like Walker's?”

“Basically. This isn't your first time in the US, is it?”

“No. I've crossed the pond a few times, but this is the first time I've had Lay's.” He holds up the bag of chips and studies them skeptically. “I think I'm intimidated by American crisps, and it might have to do with the fact that you call them
chips
.”

“Crisps actually makes more sense... unlike the word
flat
.” When I take another bite of my sandwich, I find a large chunk of celery. I usually don't like celery that much, but today I do. After all, how often is Harry Shaw going to make me a sandwich? “I'm especially confused by the word
biscuit
for
cookie
. Here, a biscuit is something you'd have with mashed potatoes and gravy, not a glass of
milk.”

“Milk shmilk,” Harry scoffs. “Everyone knows you need to have your biscuits with
tea
. And... speak of the devil.” He extracts a metal tin from the bottom of his picnic basket. “I made you some
biscuits last night.”

“Really? You made biscuits?!”

“Indeed I did.” Harry pops open the tin and shows me a colorful array of cookies. “I didn't know what you'd like, so I made three different sorts. There's a cinnamon cookie... a snickerdoodle.” He points to the cookies, identifying them as he speaks. “And your basic chocolate chip cookie, which seems to be an American favorite.”

“Harry...” I shake my head with disbelief. “You're so sweet.”

“Well, I wanted to prove to you that I'm nothing like the Harry from your book. The real Harry is more than happy to be here, and he wants to prove it to you.”

I think the real Harry probably feels sorry for me—he feels bad that I could die at any moment. But now isn't the time to point that out. “I think I'll try a cinnamon one.”

“Those are the splotchy brown ones. I don't know if they're supposed to be splotchy, or if that's a mistake. Either way, they don't taste too bad.” We both take a cinnamon cookie at the same time. When I take a bite, the cookie crumbles and melts in my mouth.

“Hey, this is really good!”

“Better than my sandwich?” he asks with a smirk. “I saw you pucker your nose after your third bite of chicken salad.”

“Nooo... the sandwich is good! I really like it.” But his cookies are better, I have to admit.

We spend the next few minutes eating and chatting about mundane things, like the smell of potato chips. We agree that we don't understand how people can eat something that smells so bad, but according to Harry, “cheese is the worst offender.” I follow up that statement by telling him that one of my brothers doesn't like cheese, which Harry says is “complete insanity” because “how could anyone not like cheese?” Every time he opens his mouth, I can feel my ears trembling with delight. I just love to listen to him talk. He has such an amazing voice, and it's not just because of his British accent. I absolutely love the tone of his voice.

“You look relaxed,” he observes.

“I am.” And it's strange, because I never thought I'd feel relaxed in the presence of Harry Shaw. I assumed I would be on edge the entire time, but he's really down to earth. His pleasant demeanor immediately put me at ease. “I think it's your voice. I love to listen to you talk.”

“In that case...” Harry opens his messenger bag and pulls out a small netbook. “Perhaps I should read some excerpts from
The Date Auction
?”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes!” he exclaims. “I wanted to read some passages about Harry Shaw.”

“Oh no,” I repeat. “I'm not going to like this, am I?”

“Maybe not, but I most certainly will. You're more than welcome to close your eyes while I read.”

I want to ask him if I can rest my head in his lap while he reads, but I would never be so bold. “Alright...” I close my eyes and heave a capsizing sigh. “Go ahead.”

William, who had been eliminated from the game some time ago, went to greet their guest. When he opened the door, Harry rushed inside. He gave his tie a tremendous yank, tearing it from his neck. “Bloody hell... that thing was starting to feel like a noose.”

William closed the door and stuffed a hand into the pocket of his jeans. “How'd it go?”

“The premiere?” Harry raked a hand over his head, tousling his inky black hair. “Tiresome.”

“What a wanker,” the real Harry comments. “He's lucky enough to go to a big Hollywood premiere, and he says it's
tiresome
? He should be more grateful!”

“He was kind of a jerk.” I agree.

“His inky black hair sounds lovely, though.” I open my eyes just in time to see him wink at me. “Let's see... what else?”

William didn't hear a word he said, because he was too busy studying Harry's shirt. After a few seconds of puzzled hesitation, he asked, “Are you wearing pink?” He pinched his friend's pink collar between his thumb and forefinger.

“I am. What of it?” Harry looked down at the garment, which was such a pale pink color, it looked as if he had accidentally laundered it with a red shirt. “It's perfectly acceptable for a man to wear pink these days.”

“Pink? Really?!” Harry laughs. “I don't think I'd ever wear pink. Salmon,
maybe
, but not pink.”

“I guess the Harry in my book is pretty secure in his masculinity.”

“I wouldn't call that secure in his masculinity. I would call that bad fashion sense. Every bloke wants to look like a rebel, doesn't he? It's impossible to look like a rebel when you're wearing pink.”

I open one eye and stare at him. With his pretty face and gentle green eyes, I don't think it would be possible for him to look like a rebel, but I think I'll refrain from comment.

“Now, moving on...”

William leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “So what is it you hate about watching yourself, Harry? Enlighten me.”

“Everything.” Harry grimaced. “I look ridiculous. My nose looks too large.”

“Are you trying to say something about my nose, dear?”

“What?” Both of my eyes fly open this time. It's true that his nose is a little bit on the large side, but I'd forgotten I put that in there. “N-no! Your nose is perfect!”

“Oh, come. We need not skirt around the fact that I have monstrous nostrils. A fact is a fact.” At least he sounds cheerful about it. “Not everyone can have an adorable little button nose like you.”

My eyes are closed again, but when I feel him tap on my nose, I feel like I might swoon. Why does he have to be so perfect?

He starts reading again.
“O... kay.” Cora examined him in the corner of her eye. Even his profile was perfection. His face was pale and his skin was perfect, like marble. His cheekbones were high and sharp, as if a master sculpture had created him, but his jawbone was stronger than Michaelangelo's David. His nose was pointy and his nostrils were a bit too big, but she loved his nose. She loved everything about him.

“Again, my poor nose!” Harry exclaims. “It just can't catch a break!”

I was wincing the entire time he was reading that passage. “Really, Harry, your nose isn't so bad! It's cute, actually.”

“Sure. Right. I believe you.” Harry crosses his arms in pretend irritation. At least, I hope he's pretending. “Well, I hope my perfect, marble skin makes up for it.”

“Ohhhhhh! I can't believe you're torturing me with this!”

“Oh, I'm not trying to torture you. I think it's cute!” He closes his laptop and returns it to his bag. “I must say, Cora, you're a pleasure to be around.”

“And you're not so bad yourself.” I don't know why I'm downplaying it. It's actually the most amazing moment of my life, but I don't think I should tell him that.

“I hope you've enjoyed yourself.”

“I have.”

“Good.” He taps my nose a second time. “Because I'm planning on taking you out again, whether you want to go with me or not.”

IX

Harry Shaw is here. In my living room.
Again.
Sometimes I can't even believe this is my life. If not for my cancer, I would think I'd fallen into heaven on earth.

“So, who do we have here?” Harry asks, politely prompting an introduction.

“This is my brother, William.”

He turns to the Megan Fox look-alike at my brother's side. “And you must be Alaina?”

When I hear his question, I almost choke on my tongue.
Oh no.
This is going to raise all sorts of questions!

“
Alaina
?!” Lilly gasps. “Why would you think my name's Alaina? Is there something you're not telling me, Will Will?”

“Huh?” Apparently, William wasn't paying attention, because he looks totally lost.

Harry gives me a look as if to say
I'm sorry
. It was an innocent mistake on his part, but it's going to land my brother in some unwarranted hot water.

“This guy just called me
Alaina
!” Lilly squeals. “Why would he assume you're standing next to a girl named Alaina? Do you have a girlfriend named Alaina? Are you two-timing me, because if you are--” Lilly pauses to crack her knuckles.

“I can explain,” I speak up. “Alaina is a character in a novel I'm writing. I think Harry just slipped up.”

“Yeah,” Harry quickly agrees. “It was a slip of the tongue.”

“Ohhhh...” The muscles in Lilly's face start to relax. “Are you sure that's all it is?”