“Dinner at my place?”
Finley stares at her keys for a moment before moving her gaze to my apartment door as she considers my offer longer than I would’ve expected.
Like she can’t decide whether she wants to come back to my place or not. Maybe two sleepovers in a row is too much too soon.
Maybe I really tired her out last night.
Or maybe she’s envisioning all the fun ways we can get wrapped up in each other again tonight. I know I am.
“I think I need to be at my place tonight,” she says finally.
I shrug. “Not a problem. Let me go grab the food out of the oven, and I’ll be right over.”
“That’s—okay. Thank you.”
“Sure thing.”
I hustle inside, quickly plating the salmon and broccoli onto two plates.
Finley left the door to her apartment open, so I walk right in, setting the plates on her table before grabbing a couple of forks.
Finley walks out of her room, still in the clothes she must’ve changed into at the rink since it’s definitely not what she was wearing when she left my place this morning. She takes me and the food in for a moment before walking over and sitting down.
“Did you get everything done at the office that you needed to?” I ask.
She nods. “I did, yeah.”
“That’s good.”
After a long pause, Finley asks, “What did you do after you left the rink?”
“I watched some film. Then watched the Mountaineers game.”
“Oh, how’d they do?” Finley asks.
“They won by three, I think. I’ve never been much of a basketball fan, so I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Ah. I get that.”
I’ve never had a more normal conversation feel so awkward. After multiple minutes go by with us eating in a strained silence, I finally ask, “Is everything okay, Fin?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks. But she stands, taking her plate and turning her back to me as she walks to the kitchen to clean it.
“I don’t know, things just seem… off.”
“All normal over here.” That seems untrue, but I can’t exactly put my finger on what’s wrong. I mean, we’re still here spending time together. It just feels different.
Pushing the thought aside, I reply, “Great. Are we watching Vancouver tonight or Calgary? I watched our last game against the Stormriders already, so my vote is Calgary, but I’m fine either way.”
“I’m fine with Calgary.” Finley pulls the correct video up on her laptop.
“Have you seen the way their center likes to circle off the wall instead of getting inside body position?” I ask, as we sit down.
“Yeah. We’ll have to make sure we take away middle ice,” she notes, completely missing the easy jab she normally would’ve given about not everyone loving the boards as much as I do.
The game starts, and we watch in silence. There’s no easy banter. No discussion. No arguing. We’re just watching. Together. But separately. Like we’re strangers.
“Their goalie favors his right side,” Finley says finally, and it’s like I can finally breathe again.
