A second later, an old guy in a suit walks over to us. He greets Poppy.
“Poppy, my dear. How are you? How’s junior year of college treating you?” he asks.
“Busy as ever,” she says.
“I’m sure you’re leaving everyone in the dust with how hard you work and study. You’ve always been brilliant,” he says.
She smiles shyly at him. “Just trying to do my best.”
“She’s got a perfect 4.0 GPA,” her dad says to his friend. “And she’s been studying a lot for the LSAT, too. She’s going to knock that out of the park, I just know it.”
Poppy’s smile wavers.
“Oh, I bet. She’s going to be a successful and smart lawyer, just like you, Sterling,” his friend says. “Before I leave, remind me to get the number of your golf instructor. My swing is in direneed of help…” The guy trails off when he looks at me. “Oh, hey. You’re Nick St. George. You play hockey for Hollis U.”
I nod at the guy. “That’s me.”
He grins. “I’m a season ticket holder. I go to all the home games. Rebels for life!”
I smile and shake his hand. “Thanks for supporting the team. That means a lot. What was your name?”
“Richard Wells. Good to meet you, son. You’re a hell of a hockey player.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He turns to Sterling, who looks mildly annoyed that his friend likes me. “I didn’t know you invited a college hockey star to Thanksgiving dinner,” Richard says.
“Nick is Poppy’s boyfriend,” Sterling says in a strained tone.
Richard turns to Poppy, who’s smiling. She grabs my hand. “It’s true.”
Richard chuckles and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, this is just delightful. Nick, son, you’re a menace on the ice. It’s a blast watching you play. Peter! Guess who little Poppy Wylder is dating.”
Some other older guy in a suit walks over. I shake his hand. Richard introduces the guy as his business partner.
“Peter is a Hollis U men’s hockey season ticket holder, too,” Richard says.
“What a surprise to see the Rebels star center at Thanksgiving dinner,” Peter says. “My grandkids and I love watching you play whenever we go to Hollis U games.”
I spend the next few minutes talking hockey with them while holding Poppy’s hand. She’s smiling, looking so happy to see her dad’s friends welcome me.
A sharp throat-clear interrupts our conversation.
We all glance up at Sterling, who’s glaring at me. He dials it back when he looks at his friends. “We should sit down at the dining table. Lunch is almost ready.”
I can’t help the smug feeling coursing through me as we all head to the table. It must piss him off so much to see his friends talking to me, taking a general interest in me.
We all sit down. After Marla thanks everyone for coming, she tells us all to dig in.
“You cooked this from scratch, right, Marla?” a woman in a red dress says in a teasing tone.
Marla just laughs. “You don’t want me to cook for you, trust me. The whole kitchen would be engulfed in flames.”
Everyone chuckles.
“You should ask your accountant if this dinner counts as a tax write-off,” someone else says. “Most of your guests are your clients and work colleagues.”
Marla nods after taking a bite of turkey. “Oh, that’s an excellent idea.”
