“Yeah. Sorry. Griff and I—doesn’t matter.” She was a professional. She had a job to do. She could pine over her lost love after she did her emcee routine.
A small smile tugged at Jenna’s mouth. It looked like amusement, but Beverly was certain it must be sympathy.
“All the guys are in the back and the reality show cameras are running. The contestant cards are on the podium, and I’m going to cue your music, okay? You’re good?”
Bev nodded, pulling herself together. Of course she could do this.
She climbed the stairs to the stage, looked out at the crowd, and allowed herself one second to mourn the fact that Griffin wasn’t out there watching her. Then she slid into her professional persona, ran through her usual spiel welcoming everyone to the contest, and glanced at the first card in the stack that Jenna had left for her. One card for each contestant, it had general information about the men so that she could properly introduce them to the waiting crowd.
After having done this so often, she could do it in her sleep. But she never did. The truth was, she enjoyed the gig. Liked having the audience. And believed in the original reason for the contest—to raise money to keep The Fix going. Now, the contest had become almost an iconic event, and she was proud to be part of it.
Tonight, though, her mind kept wandering, and twice she stumbled over a contestant’s name.
She was relieved when she was down to the final two cards, and she watched as the penultimate contestant climbed the stairs, tugged off his shirt, and flexed some pretty impressive muscles. There wasn’t a requirement they strip, but of course most of them at least took off their shirt. They wanted to be in the calendar, after all. And good abs got votes.
Unlike four of his predecessors, this candidate didn’t make a speech—apparently he thought his impressive build spoke for itself. And so Beverly led the applause as he exited the stage.
She took the final card from the podium, read the name, and almost dropped the paper.
“Sorry,” she said, then took a sip of water before plastering on her show-ready smile. “Tonight’s final contestant is Griffin Draper.”
She heard the low rumble of surprise—many in the audience were regulars, who knew enough to know what Griffin kept hidden beneath his clothes and hood.
She glanced down at the card, then felt tears prick her eyes as she read the information, while Griffin walked the red carpet. “In his early thirties, Mr. Draper is the writer and creator of a popular podcast and web series, as well as the screenwriter for Hidden Justice, soon to be a major motion picture staring—well, it says Beverly Martin, but that’s your truly.”
She brushed away a tear as Griffin climbed the stairs. He wore a T-shirt. A plain white Hanes T-shirt, and she had to blink to see the words swimming in front of her.
“Mr. Draper recently made the wrong relationship decision because he was too scared to—dammit, Griff, how am I supposed to read this?”
The crowd fell absolutely silent as he moved to her side and took the microphone from her. “He was too scared to show himself to the world, even for the woman he loves. But he’s not any more.” He handed her the microphone, then slowly peeled off his shirt, revealing all of this scars except the ones on his hip and thigh.
Only the sound of breathing could be heard in the room. Not even the rustle of clothes.
“Sorry folks,” Griffin said, breaking the spell. “Shirt only. Buy the calendar if you want more.”
Nervous laughter exploded into the still air, then changed into the laughter of genuine amusement. He smiled, then moved to Beverly’s side and took the microphone again, holding it low enough that he wasn’t talking directly into it, but close enough that it still projected his voice. “I love you,” he said. “And I’m coming with you.”
It wasn’t a question, and she nodded happily as applause and cheers nearly blew the roof off the place.
Fifteen minutes later, they were still surrounded by well-wishers and folks trying to get close enough for a picture. Griffin had his shirt back on, but not his hoodie, and Beverly was so damn proud of him.
“You doing okay?” she whispered.
“It’s freaky, but it’s okay. I think I’ll get used to it. Eventually.”
Jenna bounded up the stairs grinning broadly. “Congratulations,” she said. “The vote confirmed what we all knew. You’re Mr. November.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Beverly said, holding tight to his hand.
“Yeah, well, don’t be too proud. I’m still going to tell Eva I want her to edit out the scars on my calendar photo,” he said, referring to the Man of the Month beefcake calendar in which he would now be featured as Mr. November. “I’m not quite that ready to reveal everything.”
“I can live with that,” she said, laughing as she pulled him close. “So long as I have you.”
“You do,” he said. And as the crowd around them went wild once more, he drew her close and kissed her hard, just to seal the deal.