Page 63 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door
I take a slow breath and return to the present, ball in hand, Clément’s eyes locked on me like I’m holding his fate in my fingers.
This time, the stakes are somehow higher. Or at least weirder. Because the crowd here isn’t just fans. It’s neighbors. Kids I’ve tutored in math. Retirees whose taxes I’ve helpedsort for free. Shopkeepers whose budgets I’ve rebuilt. The entire fiscal backbone of Maple Falls is currently chanting my name as I attempt to dunk a man into a glorified livestock tub.
None of them know I used to play. None of them know I can throw.
They’re about to.
I roll the ball once between my palms. Anchor my feet. Eyes on the target.
Carson is still heckling. “You sure you’re not an undercover hockey scout, Marcy? You’ve got thatdon’t talk to me unless it’s about penaltiesvibe.” I pull my arm back. “Show me what you got, Mar?—”
I throw.
The ball leaves my hand in a perfect arc and hits the bullseye dead center with a mechanicalCLUNKso satisfying it belongs in a highlight reel.
Carson doesn’t even have time to finish my name before the seat collapses and he drops straight into the pool with a splash that soaks three kids in the front row.
The crowderupts.
There’s shouting and laughter and a collective high-pitched “WHOA!” as Carson resurfaces, sputtering with hair slicked back like a golden retriever at bath time.
Now,thatwas a pitch.
Next thing I know, Clément’s arms are around me. One second, I’m standing in my boots, flushed with triumph, and the next I’m airborne, twirling in the middle of the Happy Horizons corner.
His embrace is sure. His smile is wide. He sets me down like I’m made of something rare and breakable. The world spins a little slower.
“You didn’t tell me you had skills,” he murmurs.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I reply, and it sounds a lot like flirting.
Flirting? Who am I? The girl who never had a date in her life is flirting?
Carson lifts himself out of the tank, sopping but with a big smile. “Well, if I was going to get dunked, I’m glad it was in style! Who knew the accountant had a mean curveball?”
Clément beams. “I know exactly how to celebrate your victory.”
“Oh?” I arch an eyebrow. “Does it involve Carson buying me a new pair of boots after that cannonball splash?”
He winks. “Cupcakes.”
“Of course.”
He steers us toward Neesha’s stand full of purpose and pastry dreams. “Thankfully, I don’t know how to make them,” he says. “If I did, I’d never eat another vegetable again.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile. “You keep eating balanced or I’m telling your mother.”
He goes quiet and glances away.
“You okay?” I ask, already regretting the joke. “Did I overstep? Do you have a complicated relationship with your mother?”
“No, it’s not that.” He takes a deep breath. “She passed away when I was twenty-two.”
“Oh.” I stop walking. “Clément, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been throwing jokes like that around without knowing you better.”
But he looks over at me. “It’s okay. She’s one of my favorite subjects.”
We reach Neesha’s table and Clément buys us both cupcakes. Maple buttercream for me. Candied pecan for him.
