Page 85 of Skating and Fake Dating
With a satisfying pop, the lid finally gives way. A musty, paper smell wafts up—the scent of time long past.
Bailey whispers, “We’re literally the first people to see this stuff since the nineteen-fifties.”
I recall her mentioning that’s when they celebrated the Maple Falls centennial and they were supposed to open it at the turn of the century.
On top is a small US flag, but instead of fifty stars, there are only forty-eight.
“This must be from before Alaska and Hawaii were made states.”
Beneath that are postage stamps and a packet labeled ‘Samara’ containing those little whirly maple tree helicopters that I’d try to catch at my grandparents’ farm when I was a kid. We find newspaper clippings, photographs, documents, and what looks like a love letter. It’s all preserved remarkably well. We spread them out carefully on the red-checkered tablecloth, mindful of the greasy pizza plates we push aside.
An elderly couple at the next table glances over curiously. Bailey shoots them a conspiratorial grin and lowers her voice. “Secret mission. Very hush-hush.”
The woman nods seriously while her husband winks at me. I feel my cheeks warm. Does he see that I’m head over skates for the blonde woman with the megawatt smile?
CHAPTER 35
CARSON
Turning my attention back to Bailey and the task at hand, I key in on a yellowed newspaper clipping from the time capsule. “Look at this. ‘Town Unites to Save Historic District.’ It’s about how the community raised funds to preserve these buildings in the nineteen-fifties.”
Bailey’s eyes widen. “No way. That’s exactly what we’re facing now.”
“And here’s what looks like a deed, complete with a wax seal.”
She carefully flips through the documents. “I think it’s a property agreement.”
“I’m not fluent in legalese, but maybe it could protect Main Street. We should probably open it with the mayor.”
“Wherever he is,” she mutters. “But even if Alexander MacDonald rightfully owns the land bordering town, maybe we can stop him from tearing down this block.”
Sliding my chair closer to her, I lean in, our shoulders touching as we move on and examine a black and white photograph. It shows this very pizza place—The Rustic Slice—though the sign looks newer in the old picture than it does now. A crowd stands proudly in front, holding a banner:Long LiveMaple Falls!
I think of Bailey’s version of the welcome sign on the way in.You’ll never want to leafand chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“LongLeafMaple Falls.”
Bailey playfully whacks me and I pretend to rub my instantly sore arm, but we’re both smiling. It’s hard to ignore what builds between us—not made of brick and stone like the buildings on this street, but maybe something even more long-lasting.
“Check this out.” She points to a handwritten letter. “Carson, this is from the mayor back then. He’s talking about a special town charter amendment they passed—a preservation clause that requires a supermajority vote for any historical district redevelopment.”
I straighten in my chair. “If that amendment is still legally binding?—”
“Anyone who dares to bulldoze this town will need to go through me … and get a major buy-in from the voting public. This could change everything.”
The pizza shop door jingles.
“Oh, no. Not Mary-Ellen,” Bailey whispers frantically.
But it’s too late. A petite woman in her sixties with short, cropped hair bustles over, waving at Bailey excitedly and eyeing me up and down. “Bailey, dear, I heard you’re back in town. You have to start coming to our hockey game watch parties—” As if she only just realized I’m seated here and didn’t somehow hear that one of the Ice Breakers is at the Rustic Slice, she dramatically splays her hand across her chest. “Well, what are the chances? You’re one of our new players. Wait. Let me guess, Carson ‘Bama’ Crane. I’m Mary-Ellen McCluskey,” she says with aplomb.
Proffering a friendly smile, I say, “Yes, ma’am. That’s me. Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine. I’m going to have you sign something.” She leans toward one of the papers on the table.
“No!” Bailey shouts.
