Page 15 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)

BAILEY

F rom what feels like far away, a female voice brings me back to life like I just received a jumpstart from a set of EMT resuscitation paddles.

“I can do Carson’s tie,” Savanna says breathily.

I have a vague awareness that Aunt Bianca swats her away.

I’m not sure if we have an audience or not, but in preparation for my job interview with the NHL office, I practiced tying a tie.

I had no idea what the exact job expectations were, but I read that hockey players always dress up in suits and ties before games.

Hoping to be a PAL, I learned how, just in case.

Lifting onto my toes, I slide the silky fabric around Carson’s neck and smooth his collar, before making sure the ends meet and then adjusting the length. I pause here, tipping my head back slightly to meet his gaze. The corners of his lips quirk and his eyes crinkle.

“Are you sure—?” But it’s not clear whether I’m asking if it’s okay for me to be this close—again—or if he really wants to attend the wedding.

But it could be something else, after all, he was standing up for me earlier about my business and so far hasn’t said anything suggesting that we’re not a couple or even friends. Just colleagues in a way .

Then he nods ever so slightly or maybe he has a kink in his neck. I have one in my stomach, my heart, all the way to my toes.

Fingers trembling ever so slightly, I make the knot and smooth the silky tie down his chest. His right hand catches my left and he looks at the top of it before looping his fingers around my wrist. A surge rushes through me because if I’m not mistaken, he was glancing at my very bare ring finger.

“Good to know you have a lockpick in the family.”

Silly me, of course, I was mistaken. Carson is Southern and has good manners. He’s just playing along because it would be rude to decline an invitation to a wedding. Right?

Everyone takes separate cars over to the chapel with Carson and me in the rental Jeep, but when we reach the turnoff, I tell Carson to keep going straight.

“Is this a shortcut?”

“A long cut,” I murmur.

“Are you still trying to avoid the wedding?”

Fidgeting, I answer, “No. Maybe. Probably.”

“Don’t you think it’ll be worse if you don’t show up?” He peers at me out of the corner of his eye.

Taking a deep breath, I nod. He’s right. “I just figured I’d continue your tour. Pull over up here.”

Exhausted from travel, but dressed in wedding attire, we get out at the town’s lookout point with the valley spreading below, surrounded by gently rolling hills.

I whisper, “Rumor has it, guys would take their prom dates up here.”

“Is that so? Tell me what kind of things you did with your prom date,” he teases.

“I didn’t go.”

“Were you sick?”

“No, I didn’t have a date. Figured it would be too embarrassing to go alone. At least, that’s what Odette said.”

“Maybe listen to her less.” Carson’s voice comes out sharp .

“Easier said than done. We’re twelve months apart and she’s always been a—” I make a little beak with my fingers and poke at the air.

“Thorn in your side?”

“I was going to say a worm in my ear.”

He wrinkles his nose and we both turn to face the vista.

“I always loved it here. Never wanted to leave, but then my dream of maple butter success—” I make a popping sound with my lips.

“I thought that was your hobby.”

“It got put in the hobby category when I couldn’t sell enough to make ends meet.”

Tucking his head back, he turns to face me. “So you gave up.”

“When you put it that way … I wanted to defy the odds and do things my way to be successful. Hashtag fail.”

“That led you to me, I mean, your current job, but do you miss it here?”

I trip over his comment about being led to him before I can answer his question. “Definitely. As intense as my family can be, I do miss it, the connections mostly.”

“I get it. I only return to Alabama a few times a year. My mom isn’t one to travel—afraid of airplanes.”

“The risk is real. You never know who you might get locked in a bathroom with.”

His chuckle tumbles softly from his chest.

In the distance, the chapel bells ring.

I say, “I guess we should go.”

Carson studies me for a long moment. “Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Show me how I should look at you,” he says, his expression unreadable. “If we’re going to sell this, I need to know what I’m aiming for.”

Going still, I swallow hard. “You mean like in the hypothetical scenario where we fake a relationship?”

He gives a short nod .

So this is happening. Okay. I feel like we should’ve shaken on it like we did when agreeing on a time allotment before entering the flea market. Then again, look how that turned out.

“So we’re pretending through the holidays at most?”

“If that’s what you want.”

Rolling my shoulders back ever so slightly, I say, “You’d have to look at me like this.

” I demonstrate, softening my gaze and letting vulnerability show and sincerely hoping I don’t look psychotic as I gaze at him with so much affection in my eyes, I could be as molten as the earth’s core and no one would know the difference.

Carson’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s ... convincing.”

“Your turn,” I whisper.

He takes a deep breath and transforms before my eyes. The seriousness and cynicism melt away, replaced by something that looks remarkably like longing. He licks his lips and pulls the bottom one between his teeth. My stomach flips.

“How’s that?” he asks, voice rough.

“Too good. You’re a better actor than you let on.”

“Maybe I’m not entirely acting,” he says, then immediately looks at the vista in the distance. “For the sake of practice, I mean.”

Without me realizing it, the space between us narrows like invisible currents cause us to drift together. “Totally. Practice.”

He wags his finger from himself to me. “We should practice being together. Your sister seems like the type to scrutinize. She might suspect something.”

“You’ve got that right. Wait. So we’re doing it? Fake dating?” I ask, still awash in uncertainty.

“Call it whatever you want.”

I extend my hand. “So, partners in deception?”

He looks at my hand, then back at my face. Instead of shaking it, he takes it gently, turning it over in his hands and twining ours together.

The warm ball in my belly grows, spreads .

“Partners,” he agrees, like the word holds more weight than either of us realizes.

“Partners,” I repeat.

He squares up with me and says, “I want you to fix my tie and I’m going to look at you like you’re the only person on the planet.”

“So the fake dating scheme looks plausible. Got it.” My jaw working, I clumsily agree, trying to convince myself that this fake arrangement could be fun and provide material for my wedding scrapbook.

Fingers shaking, I brush his collar and adjust the tie I’d hastily knotted earlier. Holding my breath, when I finally inhale, all I can smell is his fresh and manly scent mingling with aftershave.

The way he looks at me makes me feel wonderfully lightheaded, like I’m the only girl on that dusty dream road. The only woman for him.

His fingers trace my cheek and then he cups my jaw, sending tingles dancing across my skin.

“Say you’re mine,” he says in his low Southern rumble and then adds, “and I’ll be yours.”

I blink as if trying to decipher a foreign language. “Oh, right for show. For the family. We have to be convincing.” The words are thin and frail like I’m doubting their significance.

Lifting my chin, I’m about to speak a declarative sentence with confidence and authority. But our gazes snap together and I lose track of my thoughts, our surroundings, of everything except for the whisper of space between us.

He says, “Say it like you mean it.”

The words melt off my tongue when I say, “I’m yours.”

His gaze doesn’t waver.

I repeat, “I’m yours, Carson.”

A smile lifts his lips, and he says, “You’re mine.”

The space between us evaporates and our lips brush in the faintest of kisses.

It’s like the first time touching silk or velvet.

Seeing a sunrise and welcoming its warmth.

That perfect moment when a scoop of ice cream turns creamy and lickable but not a melty mess.

It’s so brief I fear I imagine it, but the way we both scramble for our breath—and footing—says otherwise.

I’m now made of cotton balls: soft, fluffy happiness and I feel like I could float away.

I ride this high until we get to the chapel, where Tagg waits outside. The sky clouds over and his beady eyes land on me. My stomach churns and I slow to a crawl just before the granite steps that lead inside.