Page 63 of Skating and Fake Dating
Or maybe we just want an excuse to see each other because, as far as I know, she doesn’t have a special meeting scheduled with Asher.
However, when I look over at her with her braided blonde hair as she reads something in her planner, I can’t help but think about the Bailey I know—the one whose maple leaf socks are adorable. The way she bites the side of her lower lip. How her eyes shine when she talks about all things maple … and how her pouty lips felt against mine when we kissed.
There’s a blip in my heartbeat and I’m afraid to find out what it means.
This charade is becoming second nature—casual touches, shared looks, finishing each other’s sentences. How do I know if we’re still pretending?
I order us both coffees since she was waiting for me and slidehers across the table. “One vanilla latte for the lady who claims she doesn’t have a sweet tooth.”
Gaze flaring with mirth, she wraps her hands around the warm mug. “I never said that. I just prefer my sugar in liquid form, so this is almost perfect.”
“If this town had a beauty contest, you’d be crowned Miss Maple Syrup,” I claim, belatedly realizing that I sound like a love-sick oaf.
But Bailey laughs, and the sound warms me more than the coffee ever could.
I’m about to ask her what’s on the agenda when a young man approaches our table, eyes wide with recognition.
“Hey, you’re Carson Crane, the new left winger for the Ice Breakers.”
With a nod, I shift from my meeting with Bailey, who wears a friendly but guarded smile.
“I’m a huge fan. I never thought we’d get a team and that it would include you.” He goes on to comment on some of my plays last season, thankfully leaving out the playoff pass that wasn’t.
“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”
He adds, “Saw you get doused at the farmers’ market.”
“Ah, yes, the Drench for Defense event. Tell me you bought a bucket and didn’t just stand by and watch. It was for a good cause.”
Bailey’s friend Clara, who runs the Ice Breakers’ social media account, is a bit of a genius when it comes to that kind of thing—building buzz for the new team.
On familiar ground now, she says, “We’re raising money to help save Maple Falls.”
The kid’s eyebrows lift. “I heard about that. Is it for real?”
We both nod gravely.
As if not registering the enormity of the town being at risk, the kid only seems to be thinking about hockey. With a quick glance at Bailey, then back to me, he asks, “Would it be okay ifwe took a photo with you and your wife? My buddies will never believe we met.”
Bailey visibly swallows, whether with discomfort at the photo op or being referred to as my wife, I’m not sure.
Getting to my feet, I say, “Sure, but let’s make it quick. We’re—” Unsure what to say, I wave my finger between myself and the woman who not only isn’t my wife or girlfriend, but from a very different world—a quiet, sweet one where random strangers don’t interrupt you at coffee shops. I mean, I don’t blame the kid, but still.
He fumbles with his phone, and to Bailey, I whisper, “Are you okay with this?”
Her expression remains stiff, but she nods.
The photo takes seconds, but Bailey’s discomfort lingers.
As the fan walks away, buzzing with excitement, I say, “Sorry about that. It happens sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” she says too quickly.
I take a sip of my coffee. “It bothers you, though.”
Her mouth opens and closes before she says, “I’m not used to it.”
A thought passes behind her eyes that I can’t quite read. For the first time in weeks, an awkward silence falls between us. I fear that the attention and scrutiny of the professional sports world and my being in the public eye could overwhelm her, just as it did Charlene—or so she said. Now I know the real reason she didn’t want to move closer to me—Cyrus.
