Page 37 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)

BAILEY

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, tugging at the hem of my gown—the third one this month. I’m on a fancy fashion streak and should invest in textiles.

The Hawk River Lodge, the venue hosting the bachelor auction fundraiser, is packed with women clutching numbered paddles. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was at a swanky ping pong convention. Many of them eye the stage like hawks licking their beaks, anticipating the bachelor auction.

Neesha nudges me with her shoulder, looking like she’d rather be in the kitchen cleaning up after a mega baking spree than be here. But she also looks gorgeous, as usual.

Fiona hurries over, eyes alight. “This is nuts. Who knew so many people would show up?”

“It’s to save our town, so …”

Mabel appears and I expect her to say something like, Save it from stupid hockey jocks . Instead, her gaze swings to where they assemble for the bidding contest.

Fiona rubs her hands together and says, “Ooh. This should be good.”

“I’m pretty sure half of the women in here are only in it for the show and don’t actually intend to make an offer.” Mabel wears a pinched expression like she wouldn’t object to finding a bucket with questionable contents and tossing it onstage at an opportune moment.

“You never know, a true love match could be made. Maple Falls is the place for romance … and that goes way, way back. In fact, we found a love letter in the time capsule.”

Neesha’s eyes brighten, then just as quickly dim as she juts her chin toward a gaggle of girls who look like they’re ready to hit the club and not spend a cozy evening by the fire sipping cider. “Seattle girls and none other than Brittany Beeson,” she says through clenched teeth.

Fiona leans in, anticipating a juicy story, and we get one, learning how the woman essentially stole away Nate, who played on the Ice Breakers charity team before the NHL decided to add them to the official roster.

She’s not the only one with drama tonight.

I can’t believe Carson and I got ourselves into this mess, what with our relationship being on the border between reality and make-believe.

I don’t know what to think anymore and certainly don’t have the funds to win him if my cousins have anything to say about it—I spotted their cars in the parking lot.

While the auctioneer, our very own Ashlyn, hypes everyone up for the event, I learn that sweat and sequins are not a good combination when my cousins gather around me, likely prepared to witness, if not participate in, my complete and utter embarrassment.

I think about how humiliating it would be for my family to witness me losing my supposed boyfriend to any of my cousins, or even Mary-Ellen.

Ashlyn, the emcee for the evening, calls, “Next up, ladies. One of our front-line stars—Carson Crane!”

The crowd erupts in cheers as he walks onto the stage.

Confident smile firmly in place with a hint of—is that amusement?—he says, “Hello, everyone. I’m thankful to be here to support Maple Falls, so let’s take it home! ”

“I want to take him home,” mutters a woman nearby.

Carson wears a tailored slate gray game day suit that makes him look, dare I say, dashing . Cowboys really know how to clean up. Not that he is one. But he is wearing a cowboy hat. And be still my heart, does his Southern accent take me directly to that dusty road dream.

Why would he be amused? This could rapidly turn into a disaster.

Or does he like the attention and is a showman like so many other professional athletes, at least in Odette’s opinion?

However, when he does his little strut on the stage like the other guys, I detect tension in his shoulders.

Maybe he’d rather be cleaning up after a baking spree, too.

“Ooh. There’s your man, but maybe not for long.” My cousin Savanna waggles her eyebrows.

Taking a deep breath, I tell myself this is fine. Totally fine. It’s going to work out. This is for the town. Plus, Carson and I are just fake dating, anyway. Probably.

But the knot in my stomach won’t quit.

Ashlyn says, “I know what many of you are thinking. This handsome Southern gentleman is taken. But, ladies, this is your chance to make him yours for a good cause, even if for only one date.”

Carson’s smile slips and I’m convinced my stomach is going to suck in on itself like a black hole.

My other cousin, Catie, glowers at me. “I can’t believe you let him do this.”

I’m about to defend myself when Fiona says, “The guys on the team were required to participate.”

Ignoring the comment, Savanna and Catie prepare their paddles as if ready to beat each other with them over the winning bid if it comes to fisticuffs.

Ashlyn says, “We’ll start the bidding at five thousand dollars.”

Arms shoot up across the room. Five thousand becomes eight, then ten.

My hand tightens around my own paddle— number forty-nine, coincidentally, Carson’s jersey number.

I have an emergency backup plan if Kay Cagle, Mrs. Nelson—my former English teacher—or another woman of a certain age doesn’t win the bid.

I approve of one of them having the opportunity to bless Carson with a slice of pie and some polite conversation, but not one of my relations or an eager fan.

“Eleven thousand!” calls a woman from Brittany’s Seattle girls’ group.

The knot in my stomach tightens. How will this look if another woman wins him?

“Twelve!” shouts a female voice.

From the stage, Carson’s gaze lands on me. I wish I didn’t wear the drawn expression of desperation, and instead waved my paddle with the composure of a rich socialite or a corporate professional with money to burn. However, the look he gives me almost seems to say Trust me .

“Thirteen thousand!” Savanna says, looking determined to outbid the women from the city.

Where are these people getting these funds?!

Catie cuts her a glare. “Fourteen thousand.”

One of the Seattle girls ups it again.

I don’t want to get involved in a war, but I looked at my savings and make a decision … if it comes to that. Taking a deep breath, I’m about to raise my paddle when a commotion comes from the back of the room. Everyone falls silent and turns to look.

The Ice Breakers mascot stands in the doorway. At least, I think it’s Otto.

As the oversized, furry aquatic creature strides into the room, waving at everyone and slapping paws, in its other hand is a paddle. Written on it is the word Ottilie . She wears a sparkly blue dress, a blonde wig hangs slightly askew on her furry head and it’s topped with a bow.

A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd as Ottilie sashays down the aisle, swinging her hips dramatically and blowing kisses to everyone she passes.

“Looks like we have a late arrival,” Ashlyn says, trying to keep a straight face. “Do you have a bidder number, miss?”

Ottilie reverses the paddle to display it and nods, nearly knocking off the wig, and then thrusts it into the air.

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” Ashlyn announces.

Nearly everyone in the room gasps and the bidding continues in a frenzy until the team mascot in disguise lifts her paddle decisively.

“Twenty-three thousand from the lovely Ottilie.” Onstage, Ashlyn barely keeps it together as laughter makes her shoulders shake. “Does anyone want to raise the bid?”

My cousins and the Seattle girls look shocked and scandalized in equal measure.

I realize I’ve been holding my breath and let it out. I don’t feel the need to compete with Ottilie and can’t help but wonder if Carson somehow arranged this little spectacle.

“Going once, going twice, to the beautiful otter in blue!”

The crowd erupts in applause and laughter as Ottilie rushes up to the stage.

Once more, Carson is wearing his confident smile as he grips the otter’s furry paw and lifts it in a “winning” gesture between them.

He winks in my direction. My stomach unknots, and I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

As the next bachelor takes the stage, Carson and Ottilie make their way toward us. Despite the team mascot beside him, I imagine myself as the top bidder—the winner of his heart.

“Bailey, have you met Ottilie? She’s new in town,” Carson says with a perfectly straight face.

Ottilie puts her paw over her mouth and giggles.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I reply, fighting back a severe case of the giggles.

“Meet us out back in five minutes,” Carson whispers into my ear. His breath warm against my neck, sending a shiver through me .

“You planned this?” I whisper back.

“Couldn’t let anyone else win me, could I? What would my girlfriend think?” His eyes twinkle mischievously, but there’s something else there that makes my heart skip.

“How much did this cost you?” I ask.

“Let’s just say Otto and his family now have an annual subscription to the free ice cream of the month club. Worth every penny.”

As they walk away, Ottilie dramatically clutches Carson’s arm and continues to play to the crowd.

Fiona slides up next to me. “I was going to congratulate you. That was …”

“Unexpected.”

“Unreal.”

“Hilarious, but that’s Carson for you,” I reply, unable to keep the fondness from my voice.

She lets out a dreamy little sigh and waves her paddle. “Better get back to it.”

I can’t help but wonder if she’s going to win someone special tonight.

My cousins approach and a flush creeps across my cheeks, anticipating what they’re going to say—and likely report back to Odette.

I appreciate what Carson did, even though this is all for show. But the notion is hollow because is it really? My body, battling back tension and replacing it with ease and longing, tells a different story.

Savanna shakes her head. “Bailey lost to an otter.”

“They mate for life, you know,” Catie adds as if this is new information. “Like Aunt Orla and Uncle Otis.”

“You guys do realize that Otto, er, Ottilie, isn’t a real otter,” I say.

But I can’t help but wonder if these feelings I have for Carson, bouncing between jealousy, desire, and confusion, might be .

“Well, there are plenty of other eligible bachelors,” Savanna says as if undeterred.

“Good luck bidding against them,” I say as Ashlyn referees a showdown over Lucian.

“Tonight is going to be our lucky night,” Catie adds.

As they stride away, I call, “But remember, it’s for the town.”

Savanna waves her paddle dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“We have another bid,” Ashlyn hollers, misreading her motion and raising the amount offered for an older fellow who must be on the Ice Breakers staff.

Five minutes later, I slip out the back door to find Carson and Otto—without the wig—counting out cash. This must be on top of the ice cream deal.

“The guys are going to give you such a hard time for this,” I laugh as I approach.

Carson hands the last of the bills to Otto, who salutes us before scurrying away, mascot tail swishing beneath the sparkly blue dress.

Carson turns to me, suddenly serious. “I couldn’t let someone else win.”

I nod. “Right. It would have blown our cover.” My spirits sag when I realize his intentions.

“Our cover.” He steps closer, and I can’t detect the punctuation in his voice. Is it a question or a statement?

My pulse quickens as his gaze hovers over me, drinking me in from head to toe and back again.

“Thanks for coming up with a plan. I was prepared to spend all of my savings on you.”

His voice is low when he says, “Just to protect our story?”

I bobble a shoulder. “Well …”

With the faint sounds of the auction continuing from inside, I wonder if we’re still pretending. And, more importantly, if I want to be.

Looking up at him as he smooths his palm down my arm, with a shiver, I finish, “You could have just told me the plan. ”

His lips quirk. “And miss seeing your face when Ottilie made that grand entrance? Not a chance.”

I knock his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“But you like me anyway.” There’s a question sparking in his eyes that has nothing to do with our arrangement.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” I say softly.

He drops a kiss on my forehead.

My breath falters.

Laughter spills out of the nearby door as it opens and closes. I recognize one of the girls Neesha mentioned and have had enough drama for one night. No need for anyone to find us back here with a blonde wig—Ottilie must’ve forgotten it.

Carson stuffs it in the Dumpster and says, “Come on. We should get back before people talk.”

But as we return to the auction, his hand secure around mine, maybe I don’t care if people talk or laugh or whisper. Not if I have Carson’s hand holding mine.