Page 26 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)
CARSON
M aple Grounds, the cozy local coffee shop, is busy when I walk in. Technically, this is another business meeting with Bailey to discuss some items for my transition to the team, but there are extra things to cover because the Ice Breakers are brand new.
Or maybe we just want an excuse to see each other because, as far as I know, she doesn’t have a special meeting scheduled with Asher.
However, when I look over at her with her braided blonde hair as she reads something in her planner, I can’t help but think about the Bailey I know—the one whose maple leaf socks are adorable.
The way she bites the side of her lower lip.
How her eyes shine when she talks about all things maple …
and how her pouty lips felt against mine when we kissed.
There’s a blip in my heartbeat and I’m afraid to find out what it means.
This charade is becoming second nature—casual touches, shared looks, finishing each other’s sentences. How do I know if we’re still pretending?
I order us both coffees since she was waiting for me and slide hers across the table. “One vanilla latte for the lady who claims she doesn’t have a sweet tooth.”
Gaze flaring with mirth, she wraps her hands around the warm mug. “I never said that. I just prefer my sugar in liquid form, so this is almost perfect.”
“If this town had a beauty contest, you’d be crowned Miss Maple Syrup,” I claim, belatedly realizing that I sound like a love-sick oaf.
But Bailey laughs, and the sound warms me more than the coffee ever could.
I’m about to ask her what’s on the agenda when a young man approaches our table, eyes wide with recognition.
“Hey, you’re Carson Crane, the new left winger for the Ice Breakers.”
With a nod, I shift from my meeting with Bailey, who wears a friendly but guarded smile.
“I’m a huge fan. I never thought we’d get a team and that it would include you.” He goes on to comment on some of my plays last season, thankfully leaving out the playoff pass that wasn’t.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”
He adds, “Saw you get doused at the farmers’ market.”
“Ah, yes, the Drench for Defense event. Tell me you bought a bucket and didn’t just stand by and watch. It was for a good cause.”
Bailey’s friend Clara, who runs the Ice Breakers’ social media account, is a bit of a genius when it comes to that kind of thing—building buzz for the new team.
On familiar ground now, she says, “We’re raising money to help save Maple Falls.”
The kid’s eyebrows lift. “I heard about that. Is it for real?”
We both nod gravely.
As if not registering the enormity of the town being at risk, the kid only seems to be thinking about hockey. With a quick glance at Bailey, then back to me, he asks, “Would it be okay if we took a photo with you and your wife? My buddies will never believe we met.”
Bailey visibly swallows, whether with discomfort at the photo op or being referred to as my wife, I’m not sure.
Getting to my feet, I say, “Sure, but let’s make it quick.
We’re—” Unsure what to say, I wave my finger between myself and the woman who not only isn’t my wife or girlfriend, but from a very different world—a quiet, sweet one where random strangers don’t interrupt you at coffee shops.
I mean, I don’t blame the kid, but still.
He fumbles with his phone, and to Bailey, I whisper, “Are you okay with this?”
Her expression remains stiff, but she nods.
The photo takes seconds, but Bailey’s discomfort lingers.
As the fan walks away, buzzing with excitement, I say, “Sorry about that. It happens sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” she says too quickly.
I take a sip of my coffee. “It bothers you, though.”
Her mouth opens and closes before she says, “I’m not used to it.”
A thought passes behind her eyes that I can’t quite read.
For the first time in weeks, an awkward silence falls between us.
I fear that the attention and scrutiny of the professional sports world and my being in the public eye could overwhelm her, just as it did Charlene—or so she said.
Now I know the real reason she didn’t want to move closer to me—Cyrus.
Then I check myself because Bailey and I are not a real couple. The thought makes my chest lurch.
Later that day, the locker room is boisterous as I enter for practice. Several weeks in with the Ice Breakers and I feel like we’re really gelling as a team.
“As we get more familiar with each other’s style, strengths and weaknesses, and become comfortable with Coach Hauser, I imagine we’ll dominate this season,” Jamie adds with a grin as if he’s already hoisting the Stanley .
Nate Simpson, one of our other forwards, and who I learned is not one of my teammates’ favorite humans on the planet after something that happened during the Ice Breakers charity run, juts his chin toward me.
“Speaking of getting comfortable, what’s this I hear about a girlfriend situation?
Last I knew, you were down and out on Heartbreak Lane. ”
We have the same agent, so I assume word got back to him from Gabe, but the question catches me off guard.
I’ve been careful not to bring Bailey too much into team life because the fewer lies we have to unravel later, the better.
However, I realize now that there hasn’t been a single day that’s passed when I haven’t mentioned something about her to the guys. Huh.
“It’s new,” I say vaguely.
Simpson, the kind of person who seems to be everywhere all at once, except when you need him on the ice, says, “Team dinner tonight. Bring her along. All the WAGs and puck bunnies will be there.”
Are those the kinds of groups you really want to mix? Female fans and the dedicated wives and girlfriends of players? I’ve gotten the gist that Nate’s priorities are off and this confirms it.
I think about Bailey’s unease at the coffee shop and reluctance to be photographed and they collide with Charlene’s constant complaints about the scrutiny, the gossip, and the expectations.
“She’s pretty busy.”
He mock pouts. “Too busy for your teammates?”
I lace my skates. “I’ll ask her.”
“Good. Because she’s getting added to Brittany’s group text. We’ll see you at seven.” Nate winks.
As the team filters onto the ice, I check my phone one more time.
Bailey’s last text stares me down. On top of the new local team, the threat of losing the land in Maple Falls to a developer persists.
Everyone has been coming up with ideas to raise funds to save the town.
There has been talk that even the arena could be in jeopardy because the parking lot is on this contested land.
Washington is a big state and I have no doubt the NHL and owners would find a new arena location, but I don’t want to uproot again.
I rather like this place … and a certain local.
Not only that, but it provides jobs and entertainment.
It would be a shame to see it have to close.
A big council meeting is tonight and Bailey hopes I can be there.
Never mind dinner. But once again, I can’t help but think about how we’re from different worlds.
She wants a small-town life. Meanwhile, I spend a third of my time on the road.
Hauser tells us to take five. I squirt water into my mouth and take a deep breath. Coach has been pushing us hard today. The cool water is a relief against the heat of exertion despite spending all my time on a freezing sheet of ice.
“Hey, Carson!” Weston slides in beside me on the bench, grinning ear to ear. He pulls his phone from his pocket like he’s got winning lottery numbers. “Did you see the Maple Falls Gazette this morning?”
“No,” I answer cautiously, because why would I?
Weston’s smile grows wider, not necessarily a good sign since he can be a jokester.
“Oh, mon ami ,” Clément says, joining us with his French accent thicker than usual when he’s amused. “You have become, how you say, a local celebrity.” He pats my shoulder with his gloved hand.
Lucian hurries over, looking concerned. “Guys, don’t make it worse. Carson might not like the attention.”
“Make what worse?” I ask, reaching for Weston’s phone.
He pulls it back teasingly. “Should I read the headline? ‘Puck-er Up: Local Girl Melts Ice Around Hockey Star’s Heart.’ And there’s a picture of you and Bailey. Look at your face! You’re redder than the maple leaves on the trees outside.”
My pulse skids with uncertainty. Sure enough, there I am at Maple Grounds, staring at Bailey like a love-sick dope while she laughs at something I said. The article is about how Bailey Porter, “Former Maple Falls Maple Maker,” is dating Carson Crane, ‘Gentleman Wingman for the Ice Breakers.’
Weston is nearly doubled over with laughter over the whole puck-er up thing, giving me the chance to nab his phone and review the article. It’s not awful, but I’m not sure how Bailey will feel about it.
Clément says dreamily, “Bailey has scored the goal of your heart.”
Lucian frowns at the article. “The journalist shouldn’t have published this without your permission. Want me to call the editor?”
“Do you know the editor?”
He shrugs as if backpedaling and mutters, “I know people.”
“Classic Lucian,” Weston says, still chuckling. “Always trying to fix everything. Let the man enjoy his fame!”
I hand the phone back to Weston, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably because puckering up with Bailey isn’t the worst. No, it’s pretty much perfect, but it isn’t anyone’s business.
Coach blows the whistle, signaling the end of our break. As we skate back onto the ice, I can’t help but think about Bailey and how, despite the teasing, I’m looking forward to introducing her to these dweebs I call my friends.