Page 38 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door (Love in Maple Falls #5)

MARCY

T here are moments in life when the background noise drops out, like a record scratch in the middle of a song.

That’s what it feels like when Mathieu and I step into the corridor. The arena is still buzzing as voices echo, sneakers squeak on tile, a vending machine hums nearby, but all of it is muffled under the pounding of my heart.

We walk out together in silence and make our way toward Main Street.

“What do you think of this place?” Mathieu asks, gesturing toward the bistro.

“It’s fabulous.”

We go in and Mathieu offers a nod toward a table. He pulls out a chair for me saying, “ Mademoiselle .” Same accent as Clément. My heart aches at the thought of him.

We sit in silence for a few seconds, then he reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out a tin of mints. Offers me one like we’re about to have a casual conversation, and not a discussion about the man I’m currently falling for while he’s laid out on a bench behind a closed door .

“I’m not feeling very minty right now,” I say.

“ C’est dommage .” He pops one in his mouth.

The waitress shows up and we order drinks. I don’t even remember what I asked for. Sparkling water? I never drink sparkling water. I count myself lucky my head is attached to me right now.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Mathieu says. “I confess I didn’t expect it would be under these circumstances.”

I look at him and see the sincerity in his expression. “You’ve known Clément a long time, right?”

“Since childhood. Hockey camp. I was terrible. He was… Clément.” Mathieu’s mouth quirks into a smile.

“We shared our snacks and he told the coach to stop yelling when I cried.” Mathieu’s smile lingers, then fades into something more thoughtful.

“He always notices things other people don’t.

When to push. When not to. Most people don’t realize how much he carries for the people around him. ”

I nod slowly. “I’ve seen him take care of my friend Scotty and ask for nothing in return. Seems he’s the kind of person who takes care of everyone but doesn’t let them take care of him.”

Mathieu chuckles under his breath. “ Oui . Believe me, he’s been taking care of me since my spectacular romantic implosion two years ago. Showed up at my apartment with groceries. Makes me take walks. Once signed me up for yoga under a fake name.”

“Please tell me the fake name.”

“Jean-Claude Van Damme.”

That gets a full laugh out of me. “He really is incredible,” I say. “Honestly, I don’t understand how women aren’t falling all over him.”

Mathieu raises an eyebrow .

“Oh, no.” I lift a hand. “That was out loud, wasn’t it?”

He smiles, then looks down at his tea. “He’s had his fair share of attention. But he knows the difference between what is celebrity and what’s real. I think that’s what makes him different. He really wants the one .”

I nod, fiddling with the edge of my napkin. “Don’t we all?”

“Hm,” Mathieu says, and he looks wistful. “I used to believe in all of that. The one, the lightning strike, the impossibility of it all.” He shrugs lightly. “Now, I don’t know. Maybe I just haven’t met the right one yet.”

“When you do,” I say gently, “she’ll be very lucky.”

He smiles again, smaller this time. “Let’s just hope she’s still out there.”

I don’t know what he’s thinking, but something in the way he says it makes me wonder who broke his heart, and what it would take to piece it back together.

“You need to know that Clément is one of the best people I know, always has been.” Mathieu adds quietly, “And he’s fallen hard for you.”

My throat tightens. “So why is he doing this? Why won’t he just talk to me? He’s pushing me away like he didn’t feel everything that happened between us the other night. But I know he did.”

Mathieu takes a long breath, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling, as if checking whether what he’s about to say will get him struck by lightning. Then he says, “Clément has a flight booked to Paris tomorrow.”

I feel it like a slap. “What?”

Heartbreak is so cliché, but this doesn’t feel like heartbreak. This feels like a breach of contract.

Mathieu nods. “He didn’t know how to tell you, so he wrote this, and asked me to give it to you after he left. ”

He extends his hand across the table, and in it is an envelope.

In all my three years of Marcy Fontaine Accounting, I have never ripped open an envelope and read so fast.

Chère Marcy,

When we began this little journey in the meeting room of town hall, I never would have guessed how much of my heart would belong to you before the Harvest Moon.

All those dreams I had of making a life in America, of waking in the morning and sharing stories and coffee with the woman who made me feel whole—I never knew who she was.

Until I met you. By the time you read this, I’ll have landed in France, full of regret for what could have been, knowing I didn’t have another choice.

For I can’t be the man you need me to be in Maple Falls, and you deserve nothing less than a man who will be at every Maple Fest, every petting zoo, every throw you make of that glorious softball.

I wish it could have been me. Instead, I’ll spend my life jealous of the man who earns his chance at love with the ice queen of Maple Falls.

Wish I had been yours,

Clément

I stand too quickly, the blood rushing to my head. “He was going to leave. Just—poof. Go back to his croissants, and his museums, and his metro. But the man loves me.” I look at Mathieu for confirmation and find his head nodding in agreement. “He loves me a lot.”

“ Oui ,” Mathieu says. “And I don’t know if he realizes how big a mistake he is making.” Mathieu’s eyes tell me the story of a man who knows what it means to love and have lost. It hurts to see him like this, but I know he is behind the idea of Clément and me, one hundred percent.

“I have to do something.” I look around for inspiration. The letter with his declaration of love… the sparkling water in a fancy glass… the sky…

The idea comes like a crashing wave.

Clément thinks he’s doing what’s best for me, but he didn’t understand that what’s best for us is what’s best for me.

I look Mathieu straight in the eye and speak the most heartfelt “Thank you,” I ever have. Cold air slices across my cheeks as I speed walk to Happy Horizons with one single thought dominating my brain.

It’s my turn to show Clément what he means to me. He wrote the letter. I’ll take action.

Sure, he’s got a seat booked for Paris tomorrow…

But there’s always another seat on the plane.

The instant I’m in my cabin, I fire up my laptop, muttering a prayer for good Wi-Fi. My browser opens, cursor blinking like it knows it’s about to become the star of a last-ditch romantic gesture.

Only one flight from Seattle to Paris tomorrow. There’s one economy seat left.

I click it. Enter my information. Reach for my wallet.

“There are three ways to balance a budget, and at least twice that many to save love from passing me by.”

I don’t know what’s going to happen in Paris.

But I’m going to be on that plane.