I take another sip of my drink and smile. “We grew up in Toronto in an area called the Beaches. We had a super tiny house, but because Jude was the only boy he got his own room. He started playing hockey before I was even born, so my childhood weekends were spent in rinks watching him play. He’ll tell you our parents spoiled my sisters and me, but the fact is Jude was always priority one.”
Elijah stares at me for a minute with an expression I can’t decipher. “It’s weird. You actually don’t sound bitter when you say that.”
“I’m not,” I reply easily with a shrug. “Jude was a hockey prodigy. We needed to cultivate that. I didn’t really have anything I loved the way he loved hockey. Don’t get me wrong—my parents still made sure we girls got to do things like gymnastics and figure skating, and Winnie even played girls’ hockey. But none of us loved anything the way Jude loved hockey. Sadie finally settled into art classes, which she was great at. I got really good at the piano, and Winnie took dance. But Jude, as much as I hate to admit it—and I will never admit it to him—is something special.”
He smiles this soft, gentle smile that looks absurdly intimate on his rugged face and tells me in a raspy whisper. “I think you’re something special too.”
I take another long sip of my drink, hoping it will cool the blush creeping over my face. He gulps back half his drink and then says, “Are you close to your parents?”
“Absolutely,” I say and think of my dad. I haven’t told Eli about his illness. I think he knows because Jude came out last year and told the media at a charity event. And Levi has known since Dad was diagnosed, so he could have told him. But he’s not mentioning it or forcing me to talk about it, which I appreciate. I spend enough time thinking about it that I hate giving it more energy by talking about it. It sucks the joy out of a lot of aspects of my life, and I’m not ready to let it suck the joy out of this. “I’m a total daddy’s girl and proud of it. My parents are amazing. Been madly in love since they were eighteen. They never had a ton of money or even a lot of luck, but they were always madly in love, and they love us madly too.”
The look on his face is pure longing. I realize this is nothing like his relationship with his parents, and I feel how much that sucks deep in my gut. “So they moved here from Toronto?”
I nod. “My dad is actually an American citizen. He was born and raised in Detroit and moved to Toronto to be with my mom after he met her in Niagara Falls.”
He smiles. “That sounds like a cute little love story.”
“It is,” I admit. “And I want that too.”
Except for the tragic ending, I add to myself. He smiles at me. It’s sure but not cocky. And then he leans in and gives me another one of those brush kisses on my cheek, stopping near the shell of my ear. “I’d say we’re off to a good start.”
“Last call,” the bartender interrupts, which is perfect timing because I don’t know how to react to that last statement. He’s right. We’re off to a great start. But how can it go anywhere?
Eli asks for the check and takes his jacket and drapes it across my shoulders. I try to protest but he won’t hear it. “It’s the middle of the night and it’s probably damp and chilly. Humor me.”
So I do, but not because I can’t handle the cold. Because his jacket smells like him—earthy and crisp—and being engulfed in that makes me warm everywhere.
I pull out my wallet to pay the check, or at least my part, but just like at the diner Eli pays it before I can. I want to protest but I know it’s no use. I just make a mental note to pay him back another way—like naked. And hopefully tonight.
He guides me to the door, his hand firmly spread across my lower back. I can feel its heat, even through the thick fabric of his coat. Outside his hand falls from my back and tangles with mine, our fingers interlacing. I’m shocked at how empty the streets are and how quiet the world seems to be. It’s almost two in the morning by the time we turn onto my street, and the craziest part of it all is I’m not tired. I’m wide awake and I’m blissful. There is no other word for it.
Before I can put my key in the lock to my building entrance he turns me to face him and pushes my back against the ancient door. He takes me in a searing kiss, and when he’s done he says in his dark, velvety voice, “This is going to work, sweet Dixie.”
“This is going to be fun,” I correct him. “But the clock is ticking.”
“Dixie Braddock, always about the rules and the deadlines.” He smiles and kisses me again, quicker this time but just as deep. “So we should probably get inside and take full advantage of our limited time.”
“You’re pretty smart for a guy who takes pucks to the head,” I joke, and he laughs.
I turn back to the door and slip the key in the lock.
Six and a half hours later we’re catapulted back into reality by the shrill sound of both our phones ringing at once. We just finished showering—together—and are both wrapped in towels. I was rinsing off my toothbrush and putting it back in the holder, next to the new one I gave him, when he started kissing my neck, and then we were on our way to getting dirty again, but the ringing stopped everything instantly.
The first thing I think of is my dad. But then why would Elijah’s phone be ringing too? In such a hurry to make love again last night, we left our phones in our clothes, which were by the front door, so we both rush out of the bathroom. Eli finds his phone first, grabs it and his underwear, and lets his towel drop, stalking naked across my apartment to answer it in the relative quiet of the bathroom. I find mine on the floor next to my sweater and see Ann’s name flash across the screen.
“Dixie speaking,” I say. My voice is a garbled mess, so I clear my throat and try again. “Dixie speaking.”
“Dix, honey, I am so sorry to wake you so early,” Ann confesses, and she sounds fully and completely awake. “We have a minor work crisis, and I need you on it. I know it’s Sunday, but it really can’t wait.”
“Okay. Yeah. No problem,” I reply swiftly, running a hand through my damp hair. It’s the first time they’ve called me on my day off, and it’s a good thing. Usually Ann handles weekend crises on her own, but she’s calling me in, and I know it’s because she wants me to show off my skills to the powers that be when her job is available. “What’s going on?”
I grab Eli’s shirt off the floor and fumble to pull it on. It’s chilly in here because I’m still wet from the shower, and his hooded Henley is gigantic on me and covers all my important bits. I tug the long sleeves up, bunching them at my elbows, and walk toward the open bathroom door. My towel falls off and I leave it on the living room floor.
Elijah is in his boxer briefs standing in the middle of my tiny bathroom. His posture is rigid, shoulders up near his ears and hunched slightly forward. He looks up and our eyes meet, and I know seconds before Ann even says it. And then she does.
“They’ve called up Elijah Casco.”
11
