Page 37 of Skating and Fake Dating
Then it’s over.
I expect Carson to leave for the Lodge, which reminds me, I have to check on his reservation, but we’re swept into the greeting line, then whisked to the Regent’s Hotel, a swanky venue, for the reception.
Carson rarely leaves my side. However, he charms the Silver Crown Club, consisting of the older women in my family with hair threaded with white and silver, who’re sassy and don’t take any nonsense, but dish it out plentifully.
While the best man gives the toast, noting that the groom married into the family after all—yes, that was a dig at me—Carson absently rubs my shoulder with his thumb. It wandersup my neck to the little spot behind my ear, almost like he’s telling me not to listen to them.
I steal a peek, but his gaze is fixed straight ahead. The movement forces me to have to adjust this dress again, or else I risk it sliding down around my ankles, making me a double spectacle for today.
The couple has their first dance and just the thought of getting out on the polished wooden floor makes my already aching feet scream.
Another aunt and uncle set approach, likely having heard that I brought a date and want to get the scoop.
“Aunt Orla and Uncle Otis! So nice to see you,” I exclaim.
My aunt all but pulls out a megaphone and announces, “Introduce us to your boyfriend.”
“Oh, he’s—” I’m about to object, but he kind of is my date, right?
Carson extends his hand to shake and introduces himself.
“Call us Aunt and Uncle Otter. Everyone does, including Bailey, well, she did until she left for the big city.”
I want to explain that I only went to New York City for my final job interview where the NHL is headquartered and then was stationed in Denver and then Cobbiton, hardly “the Big City,” but no one cares about the details and have their own pre-programmed opinions about my life, so instead, I share with Carson about how they run an otter rehab.
“That’s so cool.”
“Your new team’s mascot is an otter,” Uncle Otis says proudly.
“News to me.”
“You’ll have to come over and see our collection.”
“Of otters?” he asks.
“And otter stuff. We source a lot of it from the flea market. We heard you had quite the adventure today!”
Finally, someone believes us.
Aunt Orla says, “Nancy Millen with the jam and jelly stall said she saw you two fleeing in handcuffs.”
I slouch. “We?—”
From behind, Carson squeezes my shoulders playfully. “I have quite the little bandit on my hands.”
At last, the woman of the hour appears—not the bride—Nanna.
Aunt Orla introduces Carson as my boyfriend.
She raises an eyebrow and warmly welcomes him.
I open and close my mouth, but Nanna’s gaze lands on my bare wrist. I clasp my fingers around the place where Pappa’s watch usually sits, but don’t dare say it’s broken. This only makes me feel more terrible for not wearing it.
When Pappa passed away, he only bequeathed two items in his will … they both went to me. The family bible and his beloved watch that he’d worn during the war. It still kept time and was engraved on the back with the Latin wordsTempus Fugit.
Everyone felt slighted and scrambled, staking claims, but Nanna didn’t have any of it and told them that Pappa had made his decision the day I turned twelve. It’s not that I was his favorite, more like I was the only one willing to get up before dawn and traipse through the woods with him, tapping trees, learning about chill hours and sap flow. We were best friends.
“I take it you heard about the handcuff debacle by now.”
