Page 12 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
He won’t, I tell myself.He’s not my problem.
He’s just another charming man with a flashy smile and no idea what it takes to stay.
I’m sorting receipts into piles—reasonable,questionable, andlegally actionable—when the door bursts open.
Angel doesn’t knock.
“Okay,” she says, eyes wide and Lisette wriggling in her arms. Angel puts her down and she immediately runs into the field in front of my cabin to pick dandelions. “You arenotgoing to believe what just happened at Maple Grounds.”
I look up, waiting for a story about scones or surprise marriage proposals. Instead, she stops mid-sentence and squints at my face.
“Wait a second,” she says, voice dipping. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The I’m-about-to-find-an-obscure-law-for-a-good-cause look.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s extremely specific.”
“It’s your brand. Marcy,” she drops into the folding chair across from me and leans forward. “What’s going on?”
I glance at the flash drive still tucked beside my laptop. The one holding deeds and documents that, if verified, could destroy our town. My stomach does that quiet turning thing again.
I trust Angel. Probably more than anyone in Maple Falls. She’s loyal. Kind. And she’s never once repeated anything Itold her in confidence—not even when she was cornered by Mary-Ellen McCluskey outside the post office with a cinnamon bun and thirty-five minutes to kill.
But this is different.
If word gets out too early that Maple Falls is under threat,andthat the mayor is off on a last-ditch save-his-marriage trip, it could cause panic. People pulling out of leases. Donors pulling out of Happy Horizons. If the gossip mill spins before we know what we’re dealing with…
No, I can’t tell Angel anything. Not yet.
I open my mouth to tell her something safe and vague, but I don’t get the chance. Because that’s when Edgar butts his head into the door.
Edgar may be a goat, but he’s also the animal version of everything I try to avoid in life.
He tears through the open door like he’s being chased by wolves, knocks into the folding table that doubles as my desk with his left shoulder, and sends three manila envelopes, a full cup of coffee, and the last twenty minutes of my sorting effort crashing to the floor.
“EDGAR!” Lisette screeches, and Angel lunges forward as I dive for the falling paperwork.
Too late.
I look up just in time to see the smug little menace chewing—chewing—on a corner of a receipt taped to a pink post-it labeled“Popcorn machine (maybe??)”
He bleats at me with his mouth full. I swear it’s taunting.
“Don’t you dare—” I start.
He dares.
“Drop it! Edgar, I swear, if you digest that before I reconcile October?—”
He sprints.
I follow, shoving past the office door and out into thesunshine, where five kids and a very excited border collie named Champ erupt into cheers.
“Go, Ms. Marcy, go!”
“Faster!”
