Page 48 of Skating and Fake Dating
BAILEY
I’m still lost in thought (Okay, fine! Fantasy!) when post-shower, dressed in jeans and a fitted Henley, Carson presents himself in the kitchen. His trim hair with the little tousled bit on the top is barely damp, but he’s freshly shaved, and his eyes are sharp like he’s ready for the day.
Clapping his hands together and snapping me out of my haze, he says, “Take me to the pancakes.”
On the ride to Shirley May’s Diner, I point out a few more landmarks in Maple Falls, including the site for the big Maple Fest coming up soon. I keep the chatter rolling so my mind doesn’t default to thinking the way he looks at me, listens, and asks questions in all the right places is a reality I should get used to.
Shirley’s is busy with locals and several of my family members. I keep my sunglasses on and my head down as we grab a booth in the back. No doubt Shirley May will announce my appearance to the room at large, but I’ll try to stay in my anonymity bubble for as long as possible.
A new waitress who I don’t recognize but looks to be about my mom’s age takes our coffee order while Carson browses the menu. Unfortunately, my dining companion draws more than afew eyes, including my cousins Savanna, Catie, Kinsey, and Maeve at a nearby table.
“Looks like you already have a fan club.”
I expect Carson to glance over his shoulder, but he keeps his gaze fixed on me. “So I do.”
“Must be tough, catching stares wherever you go.”
“I’m sure you relate.”
I laugh, nearly sputtering my coffee. “Yeah. Of course. Right. Me.”
He looks me over for a long moment that halts my breath.
“Do you kids know what you’d like?” a female voice floats somewhere nearby and I realize it’s Peggy, the server.
Carson gestures for me to go first. I place the same order I have since I was a kid for the three-pancake special, topped with blueberries, apples, and a heap of whipped cream.
“I’ll have the same,” Carson says.
I lift my eyebrows in question.
“Research purposes. If we’re testing your theory about a craving I’ll have for the rest of my life, I need to be thorough.”
I laugh and his eyes linger on me before my giggling cousins remind me that we faked them out last night and that technically I’m working right now.
Sitting up straighter and being as professional as possible, I share details about the adjustment period, what to expect, and that I’m working on his accommodations until his rental becomes available next weekend.
“Is your room not an option?”
“Carson, you can’t stay at my house.”
“Your mom said I’m welcome anytime.”
“But—” Before I can finish my sentence, Peggy brings out two plates stacked with pancakes and sets a plastic bottle on the table. “Can I get you kids anything else?”
“This looks great, thanks,” I say.
Carson thanks her, too, and then reaches for the syrup dispenser. I swat his hand away.
He jerks it back and asks, “What was that for?”
“I’ve got the good stuff.” I discreetly remove a glass jar of the best maple syrup in the county from my purse and slide it across the table.
“You brought your own maple syrup?” His eyes widen with surprise.
I hush him. “Shh. I don’t want to get banned again.”
He chuckles. “You were banned for bringing in illegal maple syrup? For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me.”
