Page 10 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
The voice comes from somewhere beneath my elbow. I glance down to find a petite woman with cropped gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a presence that makes you straighten your spine instinctively.
“Mary-Ellen McCluskey,” she says, offering a hand like a diplomat. “And you must be the new goalie from France.”
I do a double take. “How did you?—?”
“Oh, honey,” she waves a hand. “I play bingo with the fire chief’s mother. She knows everything by Wednesday that happens by Friday. You’re Clément Rivière. You’re French, you’re single, and you bought the historic house of Maple Falls, heaven help you.”
I laugh. “That’s a very efficient summary.”
“We’re a town built on gossip and casseroles. You’ll get used to it.” Her eyes twinkle. “You should come to bingo. Thursdays at the fire hall. I promise to introduce you to all the eligible ladies over seventy-two.”
“How could I resist? Oh, but wait, I have practice. Another time.” I offer her a playful wink.
She beams, pats my arm, and totters off toward the coffee shop.
I glance back toward the street, hands still in my pockets,and smile to myself. This is exactly what I wanted. Not just the house, but this. These moments.
And if the accountant happens to walk by right now, I’d offer to buy her a crepe. Banana and Nutella, of course.
You have to lead with your strengths.
I stroll a little farther down, shoes crunching over a scatter of freshly fallen leaves, and stop in front of a maple tree so stunning it looks like it belongs in a painting. The leaves are halfway to their full blaze—flashes of crimson and gold climbing through the green, like the tree itself is holding its breath before bursting into flame.
It’s too good not to share.
I pull out my phone and take a quick selfie beneath it, tilting the angle to catch the autumn light filtering through the branches above.
I attach the photo to a message and type:
Me: Voilà! So when are you coming to visit?
I hesitate before typing the next line, thumb hovering over the screen.
Me: She didn’t deserve you, mon frère. But this place might.
Mathieu’s been my best friend since we were both barely tall enough to lace our own skates. He played defense in our childhood league, brutal and brilliant, always protecting the net like it meant something more. Off the ice, though, he was the softest of us—sentimental to a fault, falling for women who mistook his sensitivity for weakness.
The last one wrecked him. Promised forever, then ghosted him the week before their wedding. I spent the next monthdragging him out of his apartment, trying to remind him how to laugh again. But the hurt stuck.
I’ve been trying to get him to visit ever since I learned I was coming to Maple Falls. He needs fresh air, quiet streets, strangers who smile and call you honey. He needs a place like this for a while.
I hit send and tuck the phone into my jacket pocket.
If anyone deserves a reset, it’s Mathieu.
Well, look at me, getting all romantic again. You can take the Frenchman out of France, but he’s a romantic no matter where he goes. Perhaps that’s exactly what the serious accountant needs, a chance to let her hair down and be treated well. A dinner at that Glass Olive place…
I continue a little longer, telling myself I’m just taking in the sights before I set down to do the hard work on my new home. I’m not looking for Marcy Fontaine. Not even a little.
Unless that’s her over there? No, not her.
CHAPTER 5
MARCY
Happy Horizons smells like damp hay, freshly cut grass, and optimism. The optimism is mostly Angel’s.
The ranch stretches out in front of me as I sip on my little porch. Everything here works, because Angel and Scotty make it work, because the kids who come here in their darkest times need it to work, and because places like this, once they settle into your bones, become part of your operating system.
