Page 46 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
I could tell her she’s not what I expected. That I thought I came to Maple Falls for a career and a fixer-upper. That I never thought I’d find someone who’d show me all my dreams could come true.
But I don’t say any of that. It’s too soon. She wouldn’t believe me even if I know to my core it’s the truth.
I step closer instead. Her breath catches.
My heart is pounding like I’ve just blocked a penalty shot. But I stay still. Let her decide.
Her gaze drops as her hand slowly lifts and lands over my heart. Her palm is warm through my shirt. Her fingers curl there slightly, like she’s not sure she should touch me, but can’t help it.
I don’t breathe, I don’t dare.
Her lips part, just a little, and for one suspended moment, nothing else exists. No gala. No lights. No world beyond this garden.
Just her.
Just us.
Just the space between a heartbeat and a decision. I lean in?—
BANG.
The doors slam open with the force of a stage cue gone rogue and the entire moment shatters.
My arm flies around her waist without thought.
“Look out!” I call, pulling her back into me as the doors swing.
She stumbles into me with a soft “oh!” as she lands flat against me. Her heart hammers nearly in time with mine.
“Sorry,” I say softly, my voice rough in my throat. “I didn’t mean to?—”
She shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s… I mean, thank you.”
Her cheeks are flushed, her hands still on my chest. Neither of us moves.
In the doorway stand Carson and a woman I’ve seen around town. They laugh like they’ve just escaped a burning building.
“Sorry!” Carson calls, one hand raised, the other carrying a single stiletto heel like a trophy. “Bailey lost a shoe as we stepped out. It’s not as dramatic as it looks?—”
“It isexactlyas dramatic as it looks,” Bailey says behindhim, grabbing the shoe and swatting his arm. “We almost collided with a dessert cart.”
Carson’s eyes flick to my hand on Marcy’s waist. Then to Marcy. Then to me again. A slow grin spreads across his handsome Southern face.
“Well, well,” he says. “Who’s the lady you were shielding like she’s state property?”
Marcy straightens. I can feel her pulling on the armor again—chin up, eyes alert.
She steps out of my arm before I can even think of how to answer. “Marcy Fontaine,” she says, offering her hand. “Accountant. Not state property.”
Carson shakes her hand like she just offered him a lottery ticket. “Carson Crane. Left wing. Big fan of accountants.”
Marcy narrows her eyes slightly. “Really.”
Carson winks. “Y’all keep us out of tax prison. We don’t thank you enough.”
Beside him, the woman’s eyes crinkle with interest as she smiles at Marcy.
“Oh!” I exclaim as I put two and two together. “ThisisBailey!” That sounded far less normal than I expected, and I cringe a little. I hope Carson doesn’t hold it against me.
