Page 42 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)
I enter the arena with my skates slung over my shoulder.
I’m fifteen minutes early, as usual. Some habits never change, but the reason behind them has.
It’s not anxiety driving me anymore, not the desperate need to prove myself after last season’s disappointments.
Now it’s something lighter, something better.
I want to finish practice and get back to Bailey.
The locker room gradually fills with the guys, their voices echoing off the walls as they suit up.
Lucian tosses me a roll of tape. “Early bird gets the ice time. Excited for Turkey Day?”
Coach Hauser sticks his head in. “Gentlemen, let’s make this quick and painless. Everyone has somewhere to be.”
The guys cheer in agreement.
Weston pipes up, “Carson’s just eager to get back to his not-so-Bogus Bailey.”
I take the ribbing with a smile because he’s not wrong.
Practice flies by in a blur of drills and scrimmages. My body moves on instinct now, free from the weight of fear which used to plague me, that I was one game away from losing it all. When Coach blows the final whistle, I’m already halfway to the showers .
After freshening up, on the drive to Nanna’s house, I can’t help but notice the way the November light filters through bare branches, dappling the countryside road. Bailey’s grandmother’s farmhouse comes into view, smoke curling from the chimney against the crisp blue sky.
I’m barely through the door when Tiny barrels toward me, one hundred twenty pounds of black and tan Great Dane energy—you’d think she’s still a puppy. Her paws land on my shoulders as she licks my face enthusiastically.
“Down, Tiny,” I laugh, scratching behind her ears. “Where’s your mom? She would not approve of this greeting.” Though it’s kind of become our thing.
Following the symphony of timer beeps, I find Bailey in the kitchen, a whirlwind of focus. Her maple-blonde hair is piled in a messy bun, flour dusting one cheek, and no fewer than three timers are counting down on the counter. Mason jars line every surface, their contents rich and buttery.
This is Bailey in her element—the same woman who can be tardy but also has the ability to make compelling arguments and have people laughing on opposite ends of a sentence—it’s all about punctuation.
I wrap my arms around her from behind, nuzzling into her neck. “Hey, Blondie.”
The nickname that once made her cringe now brings a smile to her face. She leans back into me, her hands still stirring something on the stovetop.
“You’re early,” she says, turning to press a quick kiss to my jaw.
“No one really wants to practice on Thanksgiving, so we didn’t goof around. Need help?”
Together, we fall into a rhythm—I label jars while she fills them, the kitchen gradually returning to order.
As I wipe down counters, I marvel at how naturally our worlds have merged.
My rigid routines have softened, making room for her spontaneity, while her chaos has found structure in the foundation we’ve built together.
“We should probably get going soon. Your parents are expecting us by three.”
Bailey sighs, deliberately slowing her movements. “The cranberry sauce probably needs another hour to set.”
I hide my smile. “Are you using that as an excuse?”
“Both?” She bites her lip, a tell I’ve come to recognize.
“Plus, everyone knows the cranberry sauce from the can is better.”
“Blasphemy.”
“This can be our one fight.”
She starts to laugh, but it quickly dies. “Odette texted the family chat this morning. She’s bringing Damian’s parents.”
Ah. There it is.
“Listen.” I take her hands in mine, turning her to face me. “Your sister can bring the entire courthouse if she wants. You’re still the one who is building a maple butter empire.”
Her eyes flick to the stack of Sweet Memories Maple Company labels on the counter—the dream she’s finally pursuing, leaving her NHL job behind to tap trees this winter and stay in Maple Falls.
“Speaking of building things,” says a familiar voice from the doorway. Mom stands there in her cable-knit sweater, her Alabama drawl somehow stronger after a week in Washington. “I found two houses I want to look at tomorrow.”
Bailey’s face lights up. “You’re really considering moving, Lolly?”
Mom shrugs, but I can see the decision is already made. “Ain’t nothing left in Alabama but memories. Time to make new ones.”
My mother, who once couldn’t leave her hometown without a week’s worth of planning and a bottle of anxiety medication, drove a rented camper across the country by herself.
One more change I never saw coming. And the fact that she and Bailey are already best friends makes me happier than I could’ve imagined.
We load the car with food and maple butter gifts, Bailey insisting on bringing Tiny despite her tendency to believe she’s lap-size.
The Porter household buzzes with activity—at least thirty family members cram into every available space.
Odette immediately corners us by the appetizer table, her diamond engagement ring catching the light as she gestures. “So, Bailey is really quitting her job? Bold move in this economy.”
Before her sister can respond, I step in. “Sweet Memories already has pre-orders through March. She’ll be tapping trees while you’re still shoveling snow out of your driveway.”
“I live in a penthouse in Chicago, I don’t shovel snow.”
I fight against rolling my eyes.
Bailey’s hand finds mine, squeezing once in silent thanks, but she doesn’t need my defense.
Voice steady, she says, “Actually, we just signed a distribution deal with three specialty stores and will be featured on HLTV.”
Odette’s eyebrows rise slightly with genuine surprise, maybe even respect.
Taffy commandeers their help while Phil pulls me outside to assist with transferring the smoked turkey onto a platter—all while asking me for insider info about the NHL.
Apparently, he’s taken a keen interest now that Maple Falls has a local team, not that I’d give away any secrets.
Later, everyone gathers around the table with several squeezed in on folding chairs.
Phil gets to his feet and lifts his glass. “Family, friends, Taffy and I have a lot to be thankful for.”
Bailey’s mom beams. “Starting with all of you.”
“But if it weren’t for some hockey chum handcuffing himself to my kid?—”
“Dad, it was the magician,” Bailey says .
He tips his head as if still needing convincing, “As I was saying, if that hadn’t happened, this may have been the last time we’d gathered around this table.”
Taffy licks her finger and then unfolds a copy of the Maple Falls Gazette and clears her throat. “In case anyone missed it, today’s headline reads, ‘Mystery Heir’s Heart Melts for Maple Falls’”
A murmur ripples through the room.
Taffy continues, sharing the rest of the article.
“‘Residents of Maple Falls are breathing a collective sigh of relief as Alexander MacDonald, the mystery heir whose plans had thrown Maple Falls into a tizzy, has had a change of heart that would rival any plot twist in the romance novels at Falling for Books.
“In a letter delivered to his lawyer yesterday, the billionaire announced he cannot proceed with his modernization plans, choosing instead to return the sprawling lands to the town. Sources close to MacDonald reveal his decision stems from discovering his family’s deep-rooted connection to our community.
“I didn’t know what this town meant to everyone, including my ancestors,” MacDonald wrote in his letter, which Mayor Thompkins read aloud at an impromptu gathering on the town square, causing Mary-Ellen McCluskey to drop her maple latte in shock.
“The resources acquired through grassroots fundraising efforts, which had residents checking piggy banks and couch cushions, will now be allocated to the town along with local charitable organizations, including our beloved Happy Horizons.
“Councilwoman Burke, who was bound and determined to save Maple Falls, whatever the cost, was spotted dabbing her eyes.
“Amidst tears of joy and hoots of happiness, we heard an echo from the past that was discovered among the contents of the time capsule, and we hope never to have to rally and hear it again, as our town is officially safe and sound.
“ Long Live Maple Falls! ”
Half of the people in the room shoot out of their seats, cheering, hugging, and proclaiming, “Long Live Maple Falls!”
When the excitement and clamor die down, Mr. and Mrs. Porter remain standing. They exchange a look.
Phil says, “If that hockey player?—”
Taffy elbows him and scolds, “Phillip.”
“If Carson hadn’t brought our Bailey back?—”
“She may not have been able to help save Maple Falls and where would that leave us?” Tears stream down Taffy’s face as she hugs Bailey. Into her daughter’s hair, she says, “I hope you never want to leaf.”
At least, I think that’s what she says.
“I certainly didn’t do it alone. It was a community effort. Took a team. That’s what makes this town special.” She twines her hand around mine. “And I’d do it all over again if I had to. Handcuffs and all.”
When we finally return to the meal, my mother chats with Gertie and Tiny sprawls across three sets of feet. Bailey’s cousins pepper me with more hockey questions and a sense of rightness and gratitude washes over me.
But it’s more than that. I’ve found something I never had before—a partnership where our differences aren’t weaknesses but strengths, where imperfection is perfect because it’s real.
Bailey leans into my shoulder, then looks up at me with her big hazel eyes. Taking her left hand in mine, I run my thumb across her wrist and then the face of her grandfather’s watch—the one I had repaired, the one that reminds us both that time is precious.
“Bailey, I’m thankful that I get to spend all my time with you.”
She brushes a soft kiss on my cheek. “Me too.”
And I realize now that I’m ready to make it forever.