Page 31 of Skating and Fake Dating
My sister asks, “Bailey, how’s your little maple syrup shop going? Have you branched out beyond the farmers’ market?”
I shrink into the place where dreams go to die. “Remember, I had to put that on hold?”
As if not missing a beat, Carson says, “There’s potential there, though. I’ve heard talks about securing a partnership with hospitality and featuring her stuff at the arena.”
My throat feels like I just tried to drink a gallon of gasoline. What is he talking about?
Carson continues, “It’s a VIP product for VIP people.”
I slowly blink at him, wishing I could download his thoughts into my brain. When that doesn’t happen, I opt to play along until I figure out the game. Clearing my throat, I say, “These are just possibilities.”
“Promising possibilities,” he adds.
Odette’s eyebrow sharpens. “That’s a surprise, but not quite the same as managing a law firm.”
Feeling all eyes on me, I want to hide behind my grandmother’s apron, but I’m too big now, being a grown woman and all. I have to show them that I can stand on my own two feet. “But it is building off our grandfather’s legacy. That’s the kind of thing I want to be known for.”
Mom nods as if she agrees with that in theory, but it’s not going to give her content to share with her friends when they humble brag about their esteemed children.
Wearing a self-satisfied smile, my sister says, “Let’s hope this one sticks and not just because maple syrup is sticky.”
Everyone guffaws as if she’s our resident comedian. The only funny bone in my sister’s body is her elbow.
I have the distinct feeling that it was a mistake to come back. It was easier to forget all my failures from far away.
Heavy footfalls approach and my father’s familiar voice calls, “Is that my sweetie pie!?”
Dad opens his arms to hug me—he gives great hugs—but Mom says, “Careful, Phil. She’s all chained up.”
From the peanut gallery, an uncle comments on the old ball and chain.
Once again, the spotlight shines on the fact that Carson and I are handcuffed and everyone speculates. The stories get wilder by the minute. So are the comparisons in hushed tones about Odette and her husband, and my Southern gentleman and me.
Aunt Bianca says, “It’s about time. Bailey is nearly past her sell-by date.”
Carson has demonstrated that he’s a good listener. I just hope he didn’t hear that, or my cousin Savanna commenting to Catie on how good Carson smells. Catie is full moon-eyed as she not-so-discreetly budges up to him and inhales.
Meanwhile, Dad peppers him with questions about the new hockey team while Mom shares embarrassing stories about my past “phases” and career fails.
I want to drag him away and run for cover, but because of the handcuffs, we’d end up taking half the assembly with us like a dragnet.
Neither one of us can get a word in edgewise until my father appears again, this time revving a chainsaw.
CHAPTER 14
BAILEY
Mom presses her fingers to her cheeks. “Not in the house, Phil.”
Aunt Bianca mutters, “Bloodstains don’t easily come out of the carpet. Taffy, I told you to pay extra for the stain guard.”
“Sir, I can explain,” Carson says, holding up his free hand in surrender.
At the top of my voice, I say, “Guys, we stopped at the flea market and volunteered at the magician’s booth.”
They run with that on a tangent about how much they like Marvin the Marvelous.
Thankfully, Uncle Bruce intervenes. “Phil, that chain isn’t rated for metal. We’re better off trying to pick the lock or getting those fence cutters.”
