Page 25 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)
BAILEY
S till at the big oak dinner table, and knowing full well about my marriage scrapbook, my mother begins interjecting her ideas for wedding venues and dates.
Not going to lie, I dip into a daydream about walking down the aisle to meet Carson, but I blame my mother. She planted the idea. She’s also responsible for my arrest record, so there’s that.
Then again, marrying me off is her hobby.
Filled with the sudden need to come clean because I don’t want anything budding between Carson and me to be built on falsehoods, I say, “Mom, this arrangement?—”
My sister’s eyes narrow, putting me in her crosshairs as if she’s caught us in the lie and is waiting for me to say the word so she can pull the trigger.
Nanna says, “Bailey, dear, did you say engagement?”
As if from above, I see the precariousness of my situation and think twice about revealing the truth, at least right now. My cheeks blister. “I just meant, like Odette was saying, we have to keep things professional.”
“For now,” Carson adds, closing his hand over mine.
My sister leans forward, chin resting on her knuckles. “Tell us about your first date. ”
I freeze. We never plotted this part of our backstory.
“Coffee,” Carson says at the exact moment I blurt out, “Elevator.”
My mother’s eyebrows shoot up.
I scramble, squeezing Carson’s hand too tightly, “I mean, I was heading to the elevator when I stopped for coffee first. Technically, it was a bakery and then I had it when we were on the elevator.”
My sister’s brow lowers. “Your first date was on an elevator?”
Nanna shrugs. “It works as a forced proximity factor in my romance novels.”
Mom’s expression turns serious. “Were you trapped? Always take the stairs. It’s extra cardiovascular exercise and good for your heart. Plus, you won’t get stuck.”
Damian goes down a rabbit trail about the dangers of being locked in a stairwell.
Carson nods enthusiastically. “Right, and I was rushing to a meeting. That’s why I was so sweaty when I asked you out for our first date in the elevator after you got your coffee from the bakery. Not exactly the first impression I wanted to make.”
My father chuckles. “I thought your mother was a terrible driver when we first met. I was actually afraid for my life.”
“That’s because I am a terrible driver, dear,” Mom says without sarcasm.
My sister bears down on us, undeterred. “How intriguing. Tell us more.”
“Where’d you go on your first date?” Nanna asks, bailing us out with a redirect in the conversation.
“Hockey game,” I say with false confidence as sweat beads along my upper lip.
“American cuisine,” Carson says simultaneously.
We look at each other in panic before I recover.
“You had a hockey game, but then we met up afterward for dinner.” I’m really massaging the truth here because technically, he may have been playing hockey in the general timeframe of our connecting and our road trip detour—rest stop food could count as American cuisine.
Without missing a beat, he snaps his fingers and nods. “She was so nervous, she was talking a mile a minute.”
“And he still agreed to a second date.”
“I knew then she was special.” The look he gives me is so convincing that for a moment, I almost believe it myself.
Odette’s voice jars me back to the present. “So, when exactly did this ‘professional relationship’ turn romantic? Last month, you told Mom you were definitely single. If I’m not mistaken, the hockey game season doesn’t start until next month, so how would you have gone to a game?”
I tense. Of course, she’d spot the hole in our timeline.
“Things got more serious a few weeks ago,” I say stiffly.
“A few months ago,” Carson says at the exact same moment.
The table goes quiet. My sister’s smile turns predatory.
I clear my throat and steal a glance at Carson, who looks like a cat covered in gravy. “What we mean is that we’ve had feelings for a while, but we only made it official more recently.”
He nods as if I just saved the puck from going into the goal. “There are some professional and personal boundaries we’ve been navigating.”
Nanna clasps her hands together. “I think it’s romantic. Like those forbidden workplace romances in my novels.”
My sister assesses us with her shrewd attorney’s eye as if she doesn’t buy it, but could sell it in the court of law.
I’m like a fish out of water when under pressure, so I’m relieved to help my mother and Odette with dishes after dinner while the guys talk sports.
Mom corners me by the sink while I try to convince myself that what we said was like seventy-five percent true, even if chronologically inaccurate.
Technically, I probably did see Carson playing at a hockey game for the very first time, but likely it was when I was still posted in Denver.
After we landed and got coffee, I was babbling nervously.
My mother says, “He’s wonderful, Bailey.”
Glancing over my shoulder toward the crack in the door where I glimpse Carson’s profile as he animatedly tells a story, a sigh escapes.
She glances toward the dining room, then down at the floor before saying, “I mean it. The way he stood up for you at dinner ...”
I do a double-take.
She hands me a plate to dry. “You know we tease because we love you, but he wasn’t having any of it. That’s a good man.”
She rushes into talking about him joining us for Maple Fest, making sure I invite him to cousin Sasha’s birthday party, and discussing seating arrangements at the Thanksgiving table.
I’m not sure we’d be able to keep up the charade. But a little spark inside tells me I want to.
I glance through the doorway to where Carson is now sitting on the floor with Margaret and the cousins, teaching them a magic trick with playing cards.
His eyes crinkle with laughter and I glimpse a future that will never be mine—us home for the holidays or any old day, him playing with our children, meeting my gaze from across the room and knowing that marriage is no longer a hobby. It’s real life.
Mom’s comment about him being a good man echoes in my mind. Softy, I say, “Yeah. He is.” And truth be told, I wish he were mine. Truly mine.
Odette catches me staring. “Don’t get too attached to him, Bailey. Remember, guys like that are used to dating models and celebrities. Not small-town girls with maple butter ambitions.”
I clamp my lips together, wishing I had the guts to tell her off, but I don’t want to give her any ammunition to expose us. But I fear Carson overheard, making me feel about as pathetic as a wet peanut.
Later, as we’re saying goodbyes, Nanna pulls Carson aside. I pretend not to eavesdrop, but what can I say, I’m my mother’s daughter.
“You take care of our Bailey. She left home for the big city and we’re proud of her, but she’s got a tender, small-town heart ... and I see she’s given it to you.”
“Yes, ma’am and I promise you, her heart is safe with me.”
Is that true? Does Nanna see something I don’t? Have I given Carson my heart?