"Let's go," Nick urged and hopped out of the driver's side before I could find a good reason to keep us both in the car.
And I had no other option but to follow his lead when he rounded the front of the SUV and opened the passenger door.
He smiled when, with a scowl on my face, I begrudgingly pushed my legs to the ground and removed myself from my seat.
With a strong arm wrapped around my shoulder, he led us into the main entrance, through the doors, and down the main hallway, until we reached an open door that had a white sheet of paper taped to it. It read, Sheriff's Auction, in black Sharpie.
We walked inside to find a table filled with opened pizza boxes, trays of cookies, and a selection of soda and bottled water.
Between the food and the haphazard way chairs and tables were arranged in the room, if it weren't for the sign on the door, I would've been convinced we were in the wrong place.
"This is not what I expected," I whispered to Nick as we walked toward the right side of the room where the sign-in table sat. A voluptuous woman with poofed-out blond hair and a pink lipstick smile sat behind it.
"This is what things look like when the government is in charge," he teased. "Frankly, I'm surprised there are refreshments at all."
"Are you here for the auction?" the woman asked, and I nodded. "I need your driver's license, proof of bank funds, and your information and signature on this sheet of paper," she added and handed me a clipboard with a ballpoint pen connected to it with a string.
I pulled the needed items out of my purse and set them on the table and then quickly filled out the requested information-name, phone number, current address, that sort of thing.
She reviewed my form and initialed it, before making a copy of my driver's license information on the small wireless printer sitting beside her laptop. After a few clicks and taps of her fingers across the keypad, she handed me back my license and a packet of papers. "The auction will be starting any minute. Make sure you educate yourself on the information in the packet. It will tell you everything you need to know and do if you win a real estate lot. And feel free to help yourself to the pizza and drinks."
"Wait … " I glanced around the room and then back at her. "Don't I get a little fan thingy?"
"Fan thingy?" she questioned with a raised brow.
"You know, the fan thingy that people use to signal their bid," I explained and even attempted to mime it out for her with my free hand.
"No," she responded. "Just raise your hand toward the auctioneer if you want to bid on a lot."
Raise my hand? Seriously?
Well, that was a disappointment. Every movie I'd ever seen with an auction scene, the main characters had the fan thingys. Either Hollywood was lying, or Nick was right about that whole teasing government comment.
"Oh, okay. Thanks," I muttered, even though I wasn't the least bit thankful that this auction had no fan thingys.
We made our way to the front of the room and sat down in two empty chairs that faced what I assumed was the auctioneer's podium. A few people chatted around us while they munched on pepperoni pizza and cookies.
"Not gonna lie," I whispered, and Nick's gaze met mine. "When I pictured this auction, pizza boxes and cans of Coca-Cola weren't in my visuals."
"So, it's even better than you expected?" he asked with a sarcastic grin, and I laughed.
"Obviously. I mean, nothing gets you in the mood for an auction like a pizza party. Hell, maybe you should start having pizza parties before brain surgeries."
He grinned. "Good idea. I'll bring that idea to the Board on Monday."
"Good afternoon," the auctioneer announced into the mic, and both Nick and I redirected our focus to the podium. But, unfortunately, after those first two words, I couldn't understand a fucking thing the man was saying. The words fell from his lips at such a lightning-quick pace, I couldn't comprehend a single thing.
My heart started to pound inside my chest as anxiety clamored into my veins.
And the man, well, he kept talking words my brain couldn't translate quick enough.
Did the auction already start? I wondered silently as I glanced around the room, trying to find some kind of insight into what was happening.
While he continued to speed-talk, someone clicked on the projector, and the giant white screen behind him showed Lot Number One. My house.
Holy hell, was I supposed to bid now?
And seriously, why did auctioneers talk so fucking fast?
Words continued to fly from his lips, and all I could focus on was the picture of my house on the projection screen. I wanted that house so bad. I needed that house. I didn't want anyone else but me to get that house, goddammit.
What if he was auctioning off my fucking house right now, and I didn't even realize it?
Panic tripped inside my chest, and my hands to started shake.
I can't lose this house! my mind shouted, and eventually, anxiety took over.
"Two hundred thousand!" I shouted and raised both of my hands at the same time. "I'm bidding! Two hundred thousand!"
A shocked, howling laugh left Nick's lips, and the auctioneer paused midsentence to look at me in absolute confusion.
With one strong arm, Nick covered my raised hands and gently pushed them back down to my sides. "The auction hasn't started yet," he whispered. "He was just letting everyone know that there was still pizza and cookies in the back."
"What?" I blurted out. "Did I just bid two hundred thousand on pizza?" I looked at the auctioneer in horror. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, sir. I guess I'm a little nervous."
The auctioneer chuckled into the mic. "It's okay, hun," he said, slow enough for me to understand. "Not the first time that's happened."
I wanted to say, "It's because you talk too goddamn fast!" but bit my tongue. There was no advantage in pissing off the guy who ran the whole show.
Nick wrapped his arm around my shoulder and tucked me into his side as his soft chuckles settled down. "How about if I let you know when it's time to bid?" he asked, and immediately, I nodded.
"Yes, please," I whispered. "I can't understand any-fucking-thing he's saying. Either he's talking faster than the speed of light, or I'm just too nervous to focus."
He smirked and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. "I'll give you the play-by-play, okay?"
God, he really was the best. Supportive. Kind. Caring. And always looking out for me.
How did I get so lucky?
"Thank you."
"Let's begin!" The auctioneer tapped his gavel on the podium before starting into his long-winded, nearly musical diatribe of words I still couldn't comprehend. He could have been selling flying toasters, and I wouldn't have had a clue.
"Okay, he's talking about your house," Nick whispered. "He's opening up the bidding at two hundred thousand. Go ahead and bid."
I raised my hand and announced, "Two hundred thousand!"
"Someone behind us just bid two hundred ten thousand. Go ahead and bid again."
"Two hundred twenty!" I shouted, and the auctioneer nodded his acceptance.
On and on it went like that until the price had climbed to nearly five hundred thousand dollars. Not only was that the cap on the amount of money I'd been able to save for a house over almost my entire working life-and yes, I ate a lot of Ramen-it was also just a fucking scary shit-ton of cash.
"Five hundred thousand," I yelled, the intensity of my fear of being a broke, well-housed, hooker cutting an edge in my normally smooth voice.
"No one else is bidding. The auctioneer is giving the room a few more seconds to bid … " Nick coached.
"Going once!" The auctioneer shouted, and thankfully, I understood. "Going twice! Sold!" He banged his gavel on the podium.
My eyes went wide with surprise, and I turned in my seat to look at Nick. "Did I get it? Did I get it?"
He nodded. "You got it."
"Oh my God!" I squealed and all but threw myself into his lap. "I got the house!"
"Good job, Char," he whispered into my ear before pressing a soft kiss to my lips.
"Thank you," I whispered back and rubbed my nose against his. "I couldn't have done it without you."
Hot damn, this man made me so happy.
I wanted to keep him around forever.
Charlotte's new house stretched up in front of us, closing out three stories of the sky with the hard brick of its solid exterior and casting a shadow all the way across the gorgeous tree-lined street behind us. From the outside, it was a beautiful home-elegant brick exterior, lots of windows and light, and a surprisingly spacious porch stoop-a little like Wes and Winnie's place, except a touch smaller, across the bridge in Brooklyn, and about $60,000 a year less in taxes.
I prayed the inside matched the outside.
"I can't believe I'm not going to have to live in that shitty apartment in Chinatown anymore!" Charlotte slapped at my shoulder and stomped her feet on the sidewalk like a kid, all the while letting out an adorable shriek.