Page 45 of Skating and Fake Dating
“Not so perfect after all.”
She laughs through her nose. “The porch roof is right out that window. Then we can shinny down the post and onto the railing.”
“How about I use the door and you sneak out to meet me?”
She sits up and bobs her shoulders. “That sounds fun.”
Glancing out the window, I say, “But you have to wait until I get outside.”
“Why?”
“In case you lose your footing, I’ll catch you.”
I don’t so much see as feel her smile gleam. “Okay, but you said you play the guitar, right?”
“Yeah, but the movers would’ve packed it.” Hopefully, taking great care since it belonged to Grandaddy.
“When you go out this door, walk to the opposite end of the hall from the stairs. My brother’s guitar is next to the bookshelf. Meet me down there with it.”
“I might wake everyone up.”
We’re standing in the small square of space not taken up by furniture or the air mattress and the oxygen seems to leave the small bedroom.
She tips her head to the side like a dare. “Or you could play me a lullaby.”
Following Bailey’s directions, I find the guitar and clamp my hands over the strings so they don’t reverberate before stealthily padding down the stairs and out the back door, then around to the porch beneath her room.
The window slides open, and dressed in an adorable pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a coordinating white shirt, she lowers onto the roof and slides to the edge. Biting her lip, she spins around, and then her leg pedals the air as she tries to find the railing she described.
So she doesn’t get hurt, I clasp her waist and cradle her in my arms.
Our gazes lock and then her eyes drop to my lips.
She says, “You’re smiling.”
“Truth be told, I never snuck out either.”
“So you were a good boy?”
“A Southern gentleman.”
“Are there dusty dirt roads where you lived?” Hope shines in Bailey’s eyes.
“I’m from Birmingham, Alabama, a city, so no.”
She sighs as if that’s disappointing. But after we sit down on the porch swing, I strum the guitar and sing a few bars of one of my favorite country tunes.
Bailey slides closer to me and then, hesitating, she tips her head to the side. Sensing what she wants to do, I give her access to my shoulder. She drops her head against it. Between songs from my mental archive and requests, we talk about our childhoods, family, music, and favorites: foods, movies, and pastimes.
It’s like we don’t want the night and this unexpected time together to come to an end.
I’m a fool whether I wish this were real or if I continue to go on pretending it’s fake.
CHAPTER 19
BAILEY
Ihave my Southern gentleman on the dusty road dream, only instead of him pressing his hand lightly to my back and drawing me close, I feel like I’m falling. When I wake up, I’m on the floor. The air mattress deflated overnight and it takes me a moment to realize why I’m not in my bed.
