Page 29 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)
CARSON
A fter an hour of mixing and mingling at the Ice Breakers inaugural bash—a near collision with a dessert cart, rescuing one of Bailey’s stiletto high heels, and then having what we’ll call a je ne sais quoi situation between Clément and Marcy, I’m pulled away for photos with team management and recording some content with Clara for social media.
“Will you be okay?” I ask Bailey.
She waves me off. “Go ahead. Fiona and I are bonding over hockey player habits.”
I just hope no one here is as shrewd and cynical as Odette and questions whether we’re a real couple or that Gabe blabs to the wrong person.
Eyes still washed out from the flash of the camera, after the photo session, I can’t find Bailey immediately.
The same panic that’s only happened once during a game seizes me.
I’d been pushed against the boards and was slightly disoriented.
For a moment, I couldn’t find the puck. One of my strengths is that I never lose sight of it.
My grandmother used to call me Eagle Eyes because I could spot things clear across their pasture.
Scanning the makeshift ballroom, Bailey is deep in conversation with Coach Hauser.
Recalling her worries about tonight, I cross the space in several quick strides.
I relax a measure when I see they’re both laughing and he slaps his thigh.
“Bailey is a hoot,” Hauser says when I meet them.
She grins like she just got a gold star.
Coach nods approvingly. “She’s the most refreshing person I’ve met at these stuffy events in years.”
Something like pride swells in my chest. “She certainly is someone special, sir.”
He elbows me. “I can see that. There I was worried that the gentleman wingman was going to be trouble after your performance last season.”
Bailey definitely dragged me out of the pit, but will I slide back in when this is over?
“Yeah. That was a low spot. I’m glad I got a second chance. Thank you, sir.”
“Keep it up and the Ice Breakers are going to dominate.” But whatever else he says is lost when the music changes to a slow song. Bailey looks up, our eyes meet, and I feel a magnetic pull to take her into my arms.
“Excuse me, I need to dance with my date.”
I extend my hand. “May I have this dance, Miss Porter?”
Her smile crinkles her eyes. “I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Crane.”
On the dance floor, I draw her close, one hand on the small of her back. She melts against me as if she belongs there.
“How am I doing?” she whispers.
“You’re amazing. They all love you.” One particular word in that sentence trips over my tongue. It’s the same one I used when talking with her dad earlier.
“Even your coach? I keep calling him sir , just to be safe.”
I laugh. “Especially the coach. He appreciates respect and people who are intelligent, yet humble with small-town sensibilities. At least, that’s what I’ve gathered.”
“Hmm. Intelligent, humble, small-town sensibilities.”
“And it probably doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful. ”
“Are you suggesting Dale Hauser was checking me out?”
I gape. “What? No.” Actually, it looks like he has his eyes on Shirley May. Clearing my throat, I say, “But I was. Am.”
“You are what?” she asks, even though I’m certain she knows what I mean, but wants to hear me say it.
“Admiring you.” My ears heat as Bailey’s satisfied smile grows.
“Why, thank you,” she says.
We move together in perfect sync, and I’m struck by how natural this feels—Bailey in my arms, breathing her vanilla and maple scent, the way her hand fits in mine.
After a beat, she says, “We’re good at pretending.”
Something in her voice makes me pull back slightly to look at her face, to study it, to be sure. “Pretending?”
She can’t hide the vulnerability in the pinch of her eyebrows. “Yes. No. I don’t know anymore.”
Me neither.
When the song ends, the team owner taps the microphone, announcing it’s time for speeches. The moment slips away, but the question lingers between us for the rest of the evening.
Later, as I walk Bailey to her front door, her heels clicking on the stone path, I feel a strange tension that wasn’t there before.
Under the porch light, she turns to face me, wearing a forced smile. “Tonight was fun. We make a good team. Pulled off the fake dating arrangement. Mission accomplished.”
“Thank you for being there with me.” I reach out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The side of my hand brushes her cheek and the touch feels like an electrical current with a short.
Her voice barely above a whisper, she asks, “Carson, what are we doing?”
I’m lost with my head in the clouds. The ground under me turns liquid with how much I want this woman. Then the charge sparks and catches. The current flows. I have to tell her how I feel or risk electrocution. “Right now? I’m trying very hard not to kiss you.”
“What? Why?” Eyes wide, her words knock into each other.
“Because if I kiss you now, it won’t be for show. It won’t be because anyone is watching. It’ll be because I want to, more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.”
She takes a shaky breath. “What if I want to kiss you back?”
For a moment, we stand on the threshold of possibility.
The world narrows to just us—her eyes, her lips, the small space between us building with anticipation.
“I wouldn’t stop you,” I whisper, feeling dizzy as her breath feathers my skin.
The intensity between us grows with each passing second. I step closer, and my fingertips graze her shoulder. A shiver runs through her body and the corners of her lips tip upward. Our eyes lock, a silent conversation of want and need passing between us.
My palms cup her face, thumbs tracing the softness of her cheeks.
“Kiss me,” she breathes, the command heard and felt in equal measure.
When our lips finally meet, it’s like touching a match to paper. The spark explodes. My pulse goes up in flames.
Her breath catches and she lets out a soft noise as we kiss.
My hands skim down to her waist, drawing her closer and the intensity grows with the racing of my pulse and the way her palms dig into my hair.
We pull apart briefly and our gazes don’t stray. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath. I’m stunned by the icy-hot sensation coursing through my veins.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, my fingers threading through her hair. Her fingers skim along my back before gripping my neck firmly.
Our connection continues, grows, and intensifies .
When we finally separate, her hair is mussed, her eyes are bleary, and her lips bee-stung from our kisses.
I lick my lower lip. “That was—” All I can do is let out a breath because there are no words.
Her exhale trembles as she nods, agreeing with me.
My phone buzzes loudly in my pocket at the worst possible time.
Bailey’s eyes flicker like she remembers something and she steps back, fumbling with her keys. “You should get that. It might be important.”
It’s probably a text from my agent. That can wait. I don’t want to break this moment.
“It’s nothing,” I say, reaching for her again, but she’s already edging toward the door.
“Goodnight, Carson. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says and slips inside.
I stand there for a beat, staring at her closed door, wondering how something that started as an arrangement led to a kiss that set my world ablaze … and why she just retreated.