Page 32 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)

“And I’d do it again. But I also should’ve told Nat to stuff it.”

I giggle. “You basically said as much to Gabe.”

“Maybe I need to find a new agent.”

At the reminder of Gabe, being the person who originally suggested Carson fake a relationship, we fall silent.

The rain drums on the metal bulkhead doors, interrupted by the occasional crack of thunder.

As the minutes tick by, the room grows colder.

Despite Carson’s shirt around my shoulders, I can’t stop shivering.

“Come here.” He opens his arms.

Uncertain, I scoot closer and he draws me into his embrace.

“Body heat,” he says as if to convince himself that’s all this is.

His solid warmth brings both comfort and excitement—an altogether different kind of shiver races beneath my skin.

“Better?” he asks, his breath stirring my hair.

“Much.” I relax against him, feeling safer than I probably should.

“Tell me what else I don’t want to miss at the Maple Fest.”

“The corn maze and hay ride are always fun. The dog parade is hilarious and adorable.”

“Will Tiny be marching in costume?”

“More like sniffing everything, but yes. This year she’s dressing up as an otter.”

He chuckles. “What about this place? It must be old. What goes on upstairs? Modern buildings must have more than one point of egress.”

I point toward the ceiling. “The haunted house is above, but it’s more than that. It used to be the general store and the heart of Maple Falls until routes changed and everything shifted to the intersection at Main Street.”

He goes still. “You’re telling me we’re trapped under a haunted house?”

I giggle. “Are you scared?”

“No, of course not.” He pauses. “Should I be?”

I tickle his side. “Maybe we could check it out tomorrow … at dusk.”

“Game.”

“Oh, right.”

“Will you come?” Hope lights Carson’s voice.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

I feel his cheek lift with a smile. “Do you miss it here?”

“Despite my pesky family? Yes.”

“They’re endearing.”

“Nosy.”

“A bit,” he agrees with a laugh.

“Though, I guess that shouldn’t be surprising.

The Porters are one of the founding families of Maple Falls, so it’s like they think they have a right to know everyone’s business.

In fact, it was my great-great-grandfather,” I count on my fingers to make sure I have enough greats , “who opened the general store. My grandfather said that during the Great Depression, he gave what he could to families who couldn’t afford food. ”

“And here you are, selling maple butter from the family farm in just about the very same location. Funny how things work out.”

So I don’t think about how badly I’d like this fake relationship to work out, I open up about the business I’d attempted to start with Sweet Memories Maple Company, with a booth at the farmers’ market, but couldn’t get it off the ground.

“The tagline was, ‘It’s so good, you’ll never forget it.’”

Carson’s hand tightens around my side as he squeezes me closer. “Have you thought about trying again?”

“With my tail between my legs? ”

“Tiny could be the mascot.”

I chuckle.

“You should give it a shot. Your products are too good to keep a secret in this small town.”

“Says the man who travels to a different city every week. Some of us like our roots.”

“I like your roots, too. Maple Falls is more than I expected.”

I nuzzle into him. “We do have a certain charm.”

“You sure do,” he says, voice low.

Carson’s fingers trace idle patterns on my shoulder, lifting little bumps on my arms even though I’m cozy under his flannel.

“Once I’m settled in, you’ll be uprooting again, right?”

“If I can manage to keep my position as a PAL. I’m always late, slightly disorganized, and on my last performance review, was dubbed a ‘creative spirit.’”

“Is that so bad?”

“Carson, it’s a synonym for ‘hot mess.’” While the words are audible, something about them doesn’t quite ring true. Finding my voice, I add, “But lately I’ve been wondering if I’m trying to fit myself into the wrong box.”

“Maybe so. It could be that our recent detour got you onto the exact route you’re meant to be on.”

My breath softens and something eases inside of me. “For someone so put together and practical, you have a surprisingly romantic outlook. Are you sure you don’t believe in love?”

Straightening and mock-serious, he says, “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“I thought that’s why we’re in a fake relationship, to repair your image so you come across as more stable. Sorry that the joke is on you,” I say, reverting to my typical self-deprecation.

Carson shifts to look at me directly. “Bailey, I’ve seen you juggle my insane schedule along with helping some of the other players, pacify angry reporters, coordinate with multiple teams, and still find time to make and jar your maple butter.

You’re not a hot mess. You’re extraordinary. ” He clears his throat. “And hot.”

His words hit me with unexpected force and my cheeks shine. Yet, I can’t quite muster his enthusiasm. “Then why doesn’t it feel that way? Why am I always one mistake away from complete catastrophe?”

“Because you care so deeply about everything you do.” His hand finds mine in the darkness. “It’s one of the things I—” He stops abruptly.

“One of the things you what ?” But the words sound more like a dare, my defying him to find something good about me when I face so much criticism. It comes from my family, even though they mean it jokingly. But mostly, I’m the source, having taken on the burden of self-doubt.

“One of the things that I—” The rest of the sentence dangles, no punctuation. Maybe he fears that if he finishes his thought, we’ll take another detour, one we can’t come back from.