Page 24 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)
BAILEY
A fter kissing Carson, I’m so giggly and giddy that I can’t sleep. I consider texting Mabel and Clara, but it’s late.
Tossing reason out the window as I did earlier, I send a quick message.
Me: I might be falling, but there’s a risk.
Clara: Hello to you, too. Do you mean you’re falling like in a hole behind the woodshed or falling in love?
Me: You know which one.
Clara: What’s the risk? You’ve been wanting romance in your life.
Me: People like me don’t end up with guys like him.
Clara: If we’re talking about the same person, I beg to differ.
Me: We’re from opposite worlds.
Clara: But chocolate cookie wafers go really well with creamy middles.
Me: Are you saying I have a creamy middle?
Clara: I’m talking about Oreos.
The little dots in the text bubble blink for a long minute. She’s either replying with an essay or has been distracted. When my phone dings again, she uses all caps to suggest that I might be making excuses because I’m scared.
Clara may have a point because my heart cannot handle being broken again, especially not by someone like Carson.
I drift to sleep, arguing with myself about what’s true and dreaming about my charming cowboy on the dusty road. Only, instead of riding a horse, he’s astride a hockey stick.
Dreams are so weird, but what about desires?
A few days later, I have a meeting at the Ice Breakers’ administrative offices to review my PAL duties along with Carson and Asher’s progress.
Afterward, #49 and I grab coffee at Falling for Books to discuss the meeting and his adjustment to the team.
My mother appears from behind a bookshelf, startling me.
“Mom? What are you doing here?”
“Browsing for books, obviously.”
“You don’t read recreationally.”
“Maybe I’ve taken up a new hobby.” She shelves a book she held upside down in her hands.
Likely story. “Anyway, I wanted Carson to join us for dinner. Get to know the future addition to the family without the fuss of a wedding. Nanna said you were at the farm the other day and I couldn’t help but wonder why you’re not spending more time at home. ”
“I’ve been working, remember?”
“Sure. Right. But be home for dinner.” She turns to Carson, who appears with our beverages. “You too.”
“It would be my pleasure, ma’am,” he says, highlighting his Southern accent.
Several hours later, blowing out a breath, we park in my parents’ driveway. I’m trying to remember the last time I was this nervous about a family dinner. Probably never. I smooth down the front of my dress and glance at Carson, who looks infuriatingly calm in his button-down shirt and dark jeans.
“Ready?” he asks, his dimple appearing as he smiles.
“As I’ll ever be. Remember, my mother will ask intrusive questions, my father will be suspiciously quiet until he isn’t, and my sister and her attorney skills will stop at nothing to catch us in a lie.”
“I thought she lived in Chicago.”
“Odette travels by air the way some people use the subway.”
“I’ve faced NHL defensemen who wanted to knock my teeth out. I think I can handle the Porter family interrogation.” He takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly.
The problem isn’t whether Carson can handle my family—it’s whether I can handle pretending to be in a relationship with him when the lines have started to blur in my mind—in Nanna’s kitchen, the orchard, and well before that.
Mom opens the door before we even knock. “There you are! Always running late, Bailey. Some things never change.”
“Hello, Mrs. Porter,” Carson says, turning on that Southern charm. “I brought these for you.” He hands her a bouquet of flowers that he must’ve had in the backseat of the Jeep—his truck is due for delivery tomorrow.
Mom actually blushes. “Aren’t you thoughtful! Please, call me Taffy.”
Inside, the chaos is immediate. My parents’ golden retriever, Margaret, bounds up to greet Carson like an old friend. My cousins race through the living room playing tag, and the smell of pot roast fills the air.
Dad emerges from his den, eyeing Carson as if meeting him for the first time—as if this time it really matters. Does it? It’s the same look he gives when listening for a suspicious car noise. “Hello, hockey player.”
“Hello, sir. Thank you for having me in your home again.” He extends his hand.
They shake, and I see Dad’s expression soften slightly—the big ole teddy bear. “Bailey says you’re from Alabama?”
“Yes, sir. Birmingham.”
“Hmm. Not much hockey down there, I’d imagine.”
As Carson launches into the story of how he fell in love with hockey at an indoor rink on a school field trip, I escape to the kitchen to help Mom and Nanna.
“He’s such a gentleman,” Nanna whispers, handing me a stack of plates to set the table.
“Yes, he is,” I agree because denying that would be ridiculous.
“And he looks at you like wife material,” she adds with a giggle.
I nearly drop the plates. “He does not.”
She pats my cheek. “I’ve been around long enough to know when a man is smitten and he was eying you like the sweetest thing since sugar when you were in my kitchen, I might add.”
“We’re just ...” I lower my voice because I cannot lie, so I avoid the truth. “It’s not that serious yet.”
“If you say so.” Nanna turns back to the potatoes, unconvinced.
By the time we sit down to dinner, Carson has somehow charmed my entire family, including my aunts with their henhouse clucks and cackles.
He’s discussed fishing with Dad and my uncles, complimented Mom’s cooking, and tossed Nanna a wink because he knows they’re her winning recipes.
Not to mention, he pulls out some hilarious and impressive hockey stories to entertain the cousins who always seem to be here.
Even my sister isn’t giving him the hairy eyeball, which is a minor miracle.
“So, Carson,” Odette says as we’re passing around the mashed potatoes.
Never mind. I spoke, er, thought too soon. She levels me with her gaze while asking, “You two met while Bailey was working for the Nebraska Knights. Isn’t that against personnel policy?”
I choke on my water. Here we go. This again.
Carson doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ve been careful to keep things professional when on site. Bailey is exceptional at her job—I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”
Odette sniffs as if she’s going to march down to HQ and report us.
Carson continues, “However, upon reviewing the NHL conduct guidebook as well as the team-specific rules, there is no prohibition against Bailey’s position as a floating staff member engaging in a relationship with a player.”
“So responsible, our Bailey,” Nanna says.
Odette adds, “I have to say, I’m surprised. She’s usually so scattered.”
“Odette,” Mom warns.
Aunt Doris launches into a story about when I came to visit so she could teach me quilt making. I accidentally sewed the yellow fabric square with little white flowers to the batting … and my shirt.
Jordan races past, being chased by some of the other cousins. “And she once fought me for the last cookie.”
Ignoring this, my sister says, “What? It’s a compliment! I’m just saying, Bailey usually forgets her phone three times a week and once showed up to Uncle Ernie’s birthday dinner a day late. It’s impressive that she’s maintaining a relationship with someone so put together. ”
Everyone at the table falls into wide-eyed, awkward silence. I stare at my plate, face burning.
“Actually,” Carson says, his voice warm but firm, “one of the things I admire most about Bailey is her creativity. She approaches life with a sense of wonder that most people lose as adults.” He looks at me with such genuine affection that for a moment, I forget we’re pretending.
My sister blathers on, but her voice fades and I can only hear Carson’s low, Southern rumble filling my ears. It’s just the two of us on that dusty road.
“You should see her workspace—it’s immaculately organized and she knows exactly where everything is.
She might be five minutes late to a meeting, but that’s because she was making sure every detail was perfect and bringing snacks for everyone.
I may be ‘put together,’ as you say, but Bailey brings color to everything she touches, including my life. I was lost before she came along.”
The table is silent again, but for a different reason.
Mom’s hand is splayed across her chest like that’s the most romantic thing she’s ever heard.
Dad is nodding slightly. Even Odette seems taken aback.
Nanna grins widely like she knows something I don’t.
Please don’t say it’s that she’s well aware this is all for show.
“Well,” Dad finally says, raising his glass, “I’ll drink to that.”
As glasses clink, Mom says, “At last, husband material!”
Cue the internal groan.