Page 87 of Skating and Fake Dating
“No, sir, I do not, but Shirley May won’t be the only one serving pancakes on Main Street if you don’t back off.” I’m prepared to flatten him if I have to.
He snarls. “No, you’re the ones getting in my way with that little spectacle at the pizza joint, thinking your little rinky-dink town stands a chance.”
From behind me, Bailey gasps. “I recognize you from the town council meeting. You’re Alexander MacDonald’s representative.”
“Jeremy Hunt, Esquire and you’re standing onhisland.” He opens his arms with a flash of greed in his eyes. “This is mine. All mine.”
“You mean MacDonald’s?” I ask, wondering how much he stands to gain if this deal goes through.
Arms in front of her chest and chin lifted, Bailey says, “Where is he anyway?”
“That’s none of your concern. He’s an important man and currently out of the country.”
Bailey shakes her head. “We’re going to prove you wrong and send you back to whatever hole you crawled out of, mister.” Clearing her throat as if remembering her manners, she adds, “Along with a sampling of local homemade goods—I make great maple butter, but still. You’re not just swooping in here like a bat and taking over.”
He narrows his eyes. “Watch me.”
Bailey cuts him a glare. “Oh, it’s on. The die has been cast. I choose to accept this mission.”
This is no laughing matter—her beloved town is at stake—but Bailey is adorable even when she’s fierce.
Jeremy Hunt, Esquire seems just to be a greedy grandstander and as he skulks away, I half expect him to cackle or holler,You haven’t seen the last of me, but he just sniffs. That’s almost worse because I worry what he might do to claim this town for his client. You can never be too careful.
CHAPTER 36
BAILEY
Ishift uncomfortably in my chair, tugging at the hem of my gown—the third one this month. I’m on a fancy fashion streak and should invest in textiles.
The Hawk River Lodge, the venue hosting the bachelor auction fundraiser, is packed with women clutching numbered paddles. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was at a swanky ping pong convention. Many of them eye the stage like hawks licking their beaks, anticipating the bachelor auction.
Neesha nudges me with her shoulder, looking like she’d rather be in the kitchen cleaning up after a mega baking spree than be here. But she also looks gorgeous, as usual.
Fiona hurries over, eyes alight. “This is nuts. Who knew so many people would show up?”
“It’s to save our town, so …”
Mabel appears and I expect her to say something like,Save it from stupid hockey jocks. Instead, her gaze swings to where they assemble for the bidding contest.
Fiona rubs her hands together and says, “Ooh. This should be good.”
“I’m pretty sure half of the women in here are only in it for the show and don’t actually intend to make an offer.” Mabelwears a pinched expression like she wouldn’t object to finding a bucket with questionable contents and tossing it onstage at an opportune moment.
“You never know, a true love match could be made. Maple Falls is the place for romance … and that goes way, way back. In fact, we found a love letter in the time capsule.”
Neesha’s eyes brighten, then just as quickly dim as she juts her chin toward a gaggle of girls who look like they’re ready to hit the club and not spend a cozy evening by the fire sipping cider. “Seattle girls and none other than Brittany Beeson,” she says through clenched teeth.
Fiona leans in, anticipating a juicy story, and we get one, learning how the woman essentially stole away Nate, who played on the Ice Breakers charity team before the NHL decided to add them to the official roster.
She’s not the only one with drama tonight. I can’t believe Carson and I got ourselves into this mess, what with our relationship being on the border between reality and make-believe. I don’t know what to think anymore and certainly don’t have the funds to win him if my cousins have anything to say about it—I spotted their cars in the parking lot.
While the auctioneer, our very own Ashlyn, hypes everyone up for the event, I learn that sweat and sequins are not a good combination when my cousins gather around me, likely prepared to witness, if not participate in, my complete and utter embarrassment.
I think about how humiliating it would be for my family to witness me losing my supposed boyfriend to any of my cousins, or even Mary-Ellen.
Ashlyn, the emcee for the evening, calls, “Next up, ladies. One of our front-line stars—Carson Crane!”
The crowd erupts in cheers as he walks onto the stage.
