Page 21 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
He grabs a wrinkled T-shirt from a sawhorse and yanks it on in one smooth, mortified motion. “Sorry. I was just working.”
“I see that,” I say quickly, now the one blushing. “You’re very efficient.”
“Right.Merci.” He clears his throat. “For noticing. I mean, not for—uh?—”
“I wasn’t noticing.”
“You were absolutely not.”
We both nod. Silence.
Then, at the same time:
“So, what were you doing running?—”
“How long have you had this place?”
We look at each other.
“I was working,” I say, gripping the binder like a flotation device. “Research. I discovered… I mean… I was running because it was important. Not because I enjoy exercise.”
He laughs softly. “Good to know. I’ll cancel the marathon I was planning for us.”
I narrow my eyes, but it’s half-hearted. My cramp is easing. The heat in my face is not.
“This chair is not structurally sound,” I note.
“Neither is the ceiling,” he says. “So, you know. Equal risk.”
I allow myself a small smile. Just one. Then I take a breath and ask, “Do you always rescue collapsing women on your construction site, or is this a special thing?”
He shrugs. “Depends. Do you always show up smelling like coffee and victory, or is that seasonal?”
And just like that, I’m smiling again. I wish I weren’t.
“I thought this place was empty,” I say, “and I thought it was a shame. A place like this has good bones.”
“I know, right?” He lights up. “I just bought it, the first thing I did when I landed from Paris. I need the permit to continue the major works, but in the meantime I’m enjoying learningbricolage. I think you call it DIY.” He holds up his hands where there are at least six band-aids.
“You quit Paris for Maple Falls, of all places?” I shrug. “I mean, you’re not wrong. This town is wonderful. That’s why I’m…”Trying to save it.Secret, Marcy. Secret.“That’s why I stayed.”
He scratches the back of his head, showing off a perfectly formed giant bicep. One that had held me just a few moments ago. “When the offer came, it seemed too good to refuse. I’d always wanted to join a newly created team…”
I nearly choke on air.
No. He didn’t just say “team.”
“And small town America has been on my bucket list since I learned English in primary school, so…”
Not a hockey player. Anything but a hockey player.
“So,” I cross my fingers, hoping he doesn’t see. “You mean you joined the Maple Fest organizing team, right?”
Let it be that he’s responsible for procuring pies and syrup and extra-large bundles of hay.
“Maple Fest? What’s that? No, I’m the goalie for?—”
Noooooooo…
