Page 14 of Anchored

He leaves and Maple turns to stare at me, biting that bottom lip. She’s dressed down today, that pink T-shirt tucked into the front of a pair of cutoff denim shorts that have been worn so much they have holes in them. Her legs are strong, lean, and pale as the summer full moon. She’s got this effortlessly feminine air about her that makes you want to sit back and admire her.

“Sooo…”

I can’t help but grin. The woman has every emotion painted across her face. It’s like a storybook. Every thought, feeling, and intention is flashed across her features before she even opens her mouth.

“Looks like we’re still engaged, moonbeam.”

Her eyes go round like she’s about to apologize for having to extend our fake engagement, but I’m honestly not upset about it. After last night especially, I don’t mind pretending. Maple is easy to like and beautiful to look at. If it helps Gracie heal, why not?

“How about we see if Gracie wants to watch the festival today?”

Maple starts nodding again, looking pleased with the suggestion. The Annual Anchor Lake Summer Festival always kicks off on Memorial Day weekend and we already missed the canoe races last night, along with the season’s first bonfire. Maple and I make a plan, starting with her heading into Gracie’s bedroom to run the idea by her. When she pokes her head out with a thumbs up, I head for the supply closet in the main building at Sunny Shores. I grab the best wheelchair I can find and wheel it back to Gracie’s. Once she’s dressed and Maple has her hair done, I get her loaded up in my Jeep and buckled in.

“Oh my! Your fiancé has some nice muscles, Maple of mine.” Gracie wags her eyebrows above the large sunglasses Maple’s making her wear in case the sunshine bothers her head. Gracie’s red-painted lips tip up in a saucy smile.

I remember all the days of work at Sunny Shores Gracie brightened by just being her spirited self. When she offered me her cabin to rent, she stated a ridiculously low monthly rent. I doubled it and moved in. The woman is truly an institution in Anchor Lake, having lived here her whole life.

Maple’s cheeks flush as she gets in the back of the Jeep behind my seat. “Doesn’t he remind you of Fabio?” Maple mutters, getting her seat belt on. I bark out a laugh and toss my non-existent long hair behind my shoulder before I climb in and start the Jeep.

“I say we stop at Lakehouse Bakery for their famous bourbon donuts first.”

Gracie cheers at my suggestion, and I take Maple’s soft smile in my rearview mirror as a yes. I pull up to the curb outside the donut shop and hop out, promising the girls I’ll return with a dozen. The line isn’t too long as most people are already at the festival. Jackie Potrowsky, the owner of Lakehouse Bakery, gives me a winning smile.

“Hey there, stranger. Decided to join the dark side and eat donuts for breakfast?”

She always teases me about being too fit to try her treats. “I always tell you it’s the eighty-twenty rule, Jackie. I eat healthy eighty percent of the time and allow myself to stray a bit the other twenty. Your bourbon donuts definitely fit in the twenty percent.”

She nods and grabs a box, already filling it with the glazed donuts most of the town is addicted to. “You’re in luck. I’m just about out. I’m closing early and heading down to the festival to see if I can take down Eddy in the dunk tank.”

She smiles, but it looks a little insane. She’s had a beef with Eddy Griffith, the owner of Eddy’s Eats and Treats on the other side of the lake for close to a decade simply because he came out with a bourbon cake not long after she came out with her bourbon donuts. She swears he stole the recipe, but she won’t share how he could have even gotten the recipe in the first place. She keeps it under lock and key in the back of her kitchen. I don’t really care as I don’t eat either treats very often. You can’t stay in shape while eating copious amounts of sugar, something I preach to my clients, friends, and anyone who’ll listen.

Jackie slides the box across the glass-top and I hand her my credit card. She peers out the window of her shop as she swipes the card. “Taking Gracie to the festival today?” Then her blonde eyebrows slam together. “Wait. Who’s that in the back? She’s pretty!”

I snatch my card back and take the box. “Gracie’s granddaughter.” I stroll to the front door as Jackie calls out after me.

“You should make a move, Holt!”

I wave goodbye over my shoulder and ignore her suggestion. Except she’ll probably hear about our “engagement” by the end of the day, thinking she had everything to do with it. That’s the thing with small towns, and especially Anchor Lake. Rumors and gossip travel faster than any kayaker heading downstream. I hadn’t really considered that when I agreed to play the besotted fiancé.

Back in the Jeep, I hand the box to Gracie. All three of us dive in, conversation on hold while our mouths explode with the puffy, sugary goodness that are Jackie’s donuts. Maple lets out a soft groan that has me glancing in the rearview mirror. Her eyes are closed and she’s chewing slowly, clearly having a moment. My muscles tighten and I forget all about the donut in my own hand. What would it be like to be the man making Maple moan like that?

Her eyes flicker back open and I glance away quickly, popping the rest of the donut into my mouth in one bite. I start the vehicle and head for the park. Cars fill every available space as we get closer, but I remembered to grab a temporary handicap placard from Sunny Shores so we get to park right up front. Gracie is light as a feather as I swing her out of the Jeep and into the waiting wheelchair. Maple insists on pushing, so I let her, keeping close in case we hit any bumps in the pavement that she needs help with. Anchor Lake is an old community and the sidewalks have lifted in places due to the roots of all the giant trees lining the area.

Kids race across the grass, high on sugar and sunshine, away from parents and homework and responsibility. The parents are grouped with friends and neighbors, sharing food and conversation. Everywhere you look, local townsfolk and tourists alike are enjoying the perfectly balmy weather here in Anchor Lake as we celebrate the start of summer.

“Maple, honey. You two should do the three-legged race!” Gracie tries to turn around in her wheelchair. Maple leaves the back end of the wheelchair and crouches in front of her grandmother. “You and Holt! You’d be so good at it!”

Maple looks up at me, eyes widening. I shrug, willing to give the race a shot if she is. “Okay, Grandma.” She stands and looks like she’s not sure what to do. “I’m not sure why you think we’d be good at it.”

Gracie swipes her hand through the air. “Holt can just carry you across the line with all those muscles.” She cackles. “Now put me over there so I can watch.” She points to the side of the race where the volunteers are getting everything set up. We push her over and lock the brakes.

“You stay out of trouble, Gracie,” I warn. She smiles up at me, pretending to be innocent when we all know she’s a troublemaker.

I reach out and grab Maple’s hand, lacing our fingers together. She jumps but quickly falls into step with me. “Let’s go, moonbeam.”

Maple rolls her eyes, but her lips are pulled up into a genuine smile. We head over to the woman with a clipboard and give her our names. She tells us where to line up and another woman opts for ribbon to tie our legs together since Maple’s in shorts and twine might hurt her skin. Maple has to step into my side, our bodies touching from foot to shoulder. I wrap an arm around her shoulders so she doesn’t fall over while we’re tied together. Nothing like two almost-strangers being physically tied together to make things awkward.

“So…” I begin as the woman continues her work on our legs. “Come here often?”

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