I do, Marnie.
“Leave her alone,” Heather scolded. “Let her be happy.”
No. Marnie was right. What in the living fuck was she thinking? She’d been so caught up with his texts and FaceTimes that she’d lost sight of his single guy status. What was she going to do? Marry Cary Kingston?
Not in this lifetime.
It was the second period of the hockey game and the Leafs were up 3–2. Tyler and the husbands had polished off two pitchers of beer and were debating a third when her phone vibrated. It was Cary on text.
Are you still at the bar?he asked.
Earlier that day, she’d mentioned meeting her friends at the King’s Head Pub. He’d said he knew it well—he used to play there back when he was starting out.
She replied,Yes. Jets are losing :(
Cary didn’t text back. He probably had another fan encounter, someone asking for a selfie or an autograph.
A few seconds later the Jets scored on the power play.
“Goal!” Tyler yelled as the hockey fans in the room, minus the husbands, cheered loudly.
Their server was nowhere in sight, so she went to the bar to order another pitcher. Not surprisingly her buzz had worn off from the light beer.
She waved at the bartender. “Another one, please.” It made her think about DJ Khaled and how he didn’t go down on his wife. “The light one.”
A man’s voice behind her asked, “Come here often?”
It can’t be.
She spun around and cracked a smile. “Cary!” He wore a parka like Nanook of the North, but with faux fur, naturally. “What are you doing here?”
“I flew into Winnipeg,” he said. “I’m driving to Brandon later.”
She snapped into work mode.Oh no! What a terrible routing. Did Kim fuck it up?Cary could have taken a direct flight from Toronto to Brandon and saved two hours of driving. Three, in this weather.
She adjusted the elastic on her topknot. “Why did you fly into Winnipeg?”
“I wanted to see you, babe.”
Babe Robertson.
“I wanted to see you too,” she replied.
He gave her a big parka hug, and she buried her face in his collar. The stubble on his cheek scratched her neck, but she didn’t care. It had been too long. Six weeks apart had felt like an eternity—like she’d been moving through life in slow motion.
When she was with Dave she could have gone six weeks without seeing him while standing on her head and not blinking.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come home with me?” he asked with puppy dog eyes.
“I can’t.” She rubbed the arm of his coat. “I told you, we’re spending tomorrow at my sister’s. Joe’s family will be there, and I hardly ever get to see them.”
“Cash or charge?” the bartender asked, sliding a pitcher of beer toward them.
She mimicked a scribble. “Put it on our tab, please and thank you.”
Back at the table Tyler waved to her friends, but they were too focused on the screen to notice him, so she waited for a TV timeout.
“Come, sit next to me.” She grabbed the pitcher by its handle. “It’s not exactly Penfolds Grange, but may I pour you one?”
