Page 38 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)
CARSON
A fter a busy week of games and Gabe bugging me about a product endorsement possibility, the long-awaited town council meeting arrives. I sit with Nanna.
While we wait for it to be called to order, she asks me, “What’s going on?”
I look from side to side, uncertain of what she’s talking about because surely she heard about our time capsule discovery. Then I realize she could only be referring to one thing.
Bailey and me.
Tapping my knee, she says, “Just remember, differences are what keep things interesting.”
Different from being in a library or at a hockey game? Different like dinner at the Glass Olive in town or tailgating? Different like a guy with a wounded heart from down South and a small-town girl with a heart of gold?
She slips a newspaper clipping into my hand. “This is from my very own time capsule. Nearly fifty years of marriage. We were high school sweethearts.”
I grunt because of how well that worked out for me.
I unfold the brittle, yellowed paper and read an article about Bailey’s grandparents’ wedding. It mentions Gertie and William’s different backgrounds and a town-wide bet that they wouldn’t last.
She says, “I had big plans to attend Yale—clear across the country. Had a scholarship and all. I was going to seize the world! But goals and dreams aren’t the same and the ones worth keeping are harder.
It takes courage to stay when it would be easier to go.
I’m confident that I would’ve obtained a degree and been a success.
As for a relationship, there are a lot of what-ifs.
I took the uncertain road. You remember that. ”
Before I can assure her I will, the meeting is called to order and everyone falls quiet.
Bailey passionately argues for preserving Maple Falls, all while wearing a smile.
“These buildings aren’t just structures, they’re our history, our heritage.
My great-great-great,” she counts off on her fingers like she did when we were locked in the basement, “grandfather’s signature is on these papers, pledging to protect them for future generations. It’s our duty to honor that promise.”
She’s focused and articulate, the scattered mess her sister accused her of being, and the Bog Monster, Wobbles, and Bailey Jaily, names given to her by her brother, all funnel into powerful conviction. I can’t tear my eyes off her.
After several hours, the council upholds the validity of the documents found in the time capsule and votes to designate Main Street as a protected historic district.
The room erupts in cheers, and well-wishers surround Bailey.
Our eyes meet across the crowd, and her smile could light up the entire town.
Alexander MacDonald won’t be happy about this, but it’s a win even though there is still more of Maple Falls to fight for.
I’m about to push through the group to reach her when my phone buzzes. It’s super persistent and irritating Gabe. He’s been trying to reach me and figuring I have a few minutes before I’ll be able to steal a minute with Bailey, I answer.
“Carson, I have good news about that endorsement deal we discussed. They love the stable, small-town hero image you’ve been projecting lately. They want to move forward.”
The words hit me like a cold shower. “The image I’ve been projecting?”
“You know, the sweet little fake girlfriend and all the community involvement. You took my suggestion and scored. It’s solid gold for your image rehab after how things ended last season. I told you fake dating was the move.”
My chest craters. Is that what he thinks? That Bailey is a calculated career move?
Yes. Actually, because on the ride here from the airport, that’s what we discussed. That was the deal, even though we never shook on it. I kind of just fell backward into it that first night at her family’s house … then I kept falling.
But is that what she thinks?
“I have to go,” I tell him abruptly, ending the call.
By the time I make it through the crowd, Bailey is deep in conversation with a woman who has a bob-style haircut and wears a custom-tailored business suit. I hang back, not wanting to interrupt.
In a friendly but professional manner, I overhear the woman saying, “My brother sent me a jar of your maple butter. He was raving about it, so I finally gave it a try. We’ve been scouring the internet for you but only saw a brief write-up on your local news site.
Together with the home and lifestyle network HLTV, we’d like to feature your items in our specialty stores across the region. ”
Bailey’s jaw lowers as if, for once, she doesn’t know what to say. “That would be incredible.”
“It would involve some travel for demonstrations and marketing events. We’d want to feature the creator, not just the products.”
“I’d have to think about it. My employment situation is complicated. But things will be getting back to normal soon once all this is over.” Her eyes flick to me, then away .
The woman hands Bailey a business card. “Don’t take your time. This kind of opportunity doesn’t come along often for small-town artisans.”
As she walks away, Bailey looks up from the card to see that I’m still waiting. Marcy, who I believe is somehow involved in the town’s finances, intercepts her, no doubt discussing something important given their serious expressions.
I spot Bailey’s purse—the catch-all of all the things—on a nearby chair. Mama taught me it’s wrong to root through a woman’s handbag, but I’m looking for something special and intend to return it as soon as possible. Glancing over my shoulder, I discreetly find what I’m looking for … right on time.
Bailey walks over to me with noticeable hesitation. “Did you hear?”
Yeah, I did, and while that’s great for Sweet Memories Maple Company, what about us?
Before I can ask, she launches herself into my arms and says, “We won!”
I let out the breath I was holding. “You were amazing up there.”
She beams, but then seems to register my expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just tired—” Confused about us. “That woman seemed interested in ...” I give her a chance to tell me the good news … or not.
Instead, she quickly tucks the business card in her purse. “Just someone interested in my maple butter. Nothing important.”
The casual dismissal of what I know is a major opportunity for her business cuts deep. Is she holding back because of me? Because of our arrangement and what it might mean if we made what started fake into something real?
I ask, “What about thinking bigger?”
Her shoulders lower with a shrug. “I’m an ordinary girl.
I make maple butter. I like seasonal decorations and cinnamon, puzzles and board games, live with my parents and my room looks the same as it did when I left home.
You’re a professional athlete. I imagine you’d want a little more excitement in your life. ”
The various topics of conversation meld together—my career, her business venture, our fake relationship and future.
I know what I’m hearing but am not sure if I should read between the lines.
Bailey rarely has had a problem speaking her mind.
This is different though, and I want to support her no matter what—that’s what she told me love is way back on the trip here.
“Blondie, there is never a dull moment with you and if it’s an opportunity for your business, you should pursue it.”
She looks surprised. “Really? But what about ...?” She gestures vaguely between us.
“Our arrangement was never meant to hold you back.” The words taste bitter in my mouth.
Her smile falters. “Right. The arrangement.”
An awkward silence falls between us. Around us, the celebration continues, but it feels like we’re in a bubble of uncertainty.
“But what about when ‘all this is over and things go back to normal?’” I ask, paraphrasing her comment to the woman.
“Were you listening?”
“I couldn’t help but overhear. Has any of this meant anything to you?” I hiss.
“As if you haven’t been looking for an exit strategy with Gabe and the endorsement deal, commenting at the Ice Breakers inaugural bash that you’d nearly accomplished what you set out to do. You’re ready to move on.”
My protective walls go up at the accusation because that’s not true at all. “So this is how it’s going to go? This was always just for show?”
“That’s what we agreed to,” Bailey responds in a muted voice.
Or maybe it’s just an echo in my ears as I’m rejected for the second time. “Okay. Yeah. I think we both know this would never work long-term, so it’s probably better we don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Probably,” Bailey whispers. “I mean, you only did this to improve your image.”
Clasping my hands behind my head, I pace in a small circle. “Is that really what you think?”
“Isn’t it?” she whispers.
Stopping so we’re facing each other, I lift her chin gently, forcing her to meet my eyes. “No. It’s not.”
I’m not sure how I want her to respond, but it’s not with silence.
Hiding the hurt in my voice, I say, “I should get going. Early practice tomorrow.”