I don’t have anything to put on top of that, so I don’t try. My father’s voice is going around in my head — I’m so proud of you — the thing he said on the phone and has never said to me before.
The seatbelt light turns off, and the whole plane stands up at once. We wait for our turn. Stanley pulls my carry-on down from the overhead and hands me the pie to free up his hands, so now I’m holding a man’s pie, and he’s got everything else. I fall into step behind him up the aisle.
For someone as ridiculous as he is, he takes up a startling amount of room. He’s broad through the back, a full head over the people around him, and his hair is the perfect length that curls up off his neck. I watch the way other passengers glance at him. I catch it twice, three times, and decide it must be hisheight. It can’t be anything else. They haven’t heard a word out of his mouth. All they have to go on is his looks, and the outside of him is not the problem.
We come off the jet bridge, and he takes the pie back.
“I can carry something,” I say as he steals the pie from me. I suddenly feel empty-handed.
“Not a chance, princess.”
“Please don’t call me that in front of my family.”
“Noted.” He hikes the garment bag higher on his shoulder without breaking stride. “I’ll keep princess in the vault. Emergencies only.” And that is the whole negotiation. He walks fast, and I’m left jogging to keep up. Then I remember that we’re about to walk into Thanksgiving at my father’s house and kick myself for not preparing Stanley for this days ago.
“Stanley.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ask my dad anything about hockey. Answer what he asks you. Don’t volunteer.”
He nods once. “Got it.”
“And there’ll be some of his guys there today.”
“Yeah.”
“Hodge is bringing Beth. Mac. McCallister. Maybe just — don’t bring up hockey at all.”
“Linwood.”
“Don’t make a face.”
“This is my face.” He keeps moving. “Is this an actual rule? Because I’m going to be on the ice against half these men inside a year. It’s going to come up.”
It hadn’t, until that exact second, occurred to me that I am walking my fake boyfriend into a room full of professional rivals, and my face goes hot all the way to my ears.
“That’s more of a reason not to talk about it,” I manage.
He stops. The garment bag swings against his hip and settles. “Hey. It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not. I can’t believe I’m bringing an outsider to my dad’s Thanksgiving.”
“I’m not an outsider, Linwood.” And there’s the grin, slow and sure. “Your dad coached me all summer. I’ve already met half the room.” He tips his head, studies me a moment too long, and the grin thins out into something quieter. “What’s actually going on?”
I swallow.
The grin comes back halfway, the way the tide comes back. “Is this just your dad? Or do you have a secret crush on one of his guys, because I’m going to need a name. For the cover story. And, separately, for my own records.”
“Stanley.”
“Linwood,” he says, delighted with himself.
“It’s not that.” I get it out on barely any breath. I cross my arms.
He looks down at me. “You’re usually so — composed. Poised. I don’t know how to act around you when you’re like this.”
“And you’re usually weird and cracking jokes,” I say, “so I don’t know how to act around you when you’re not so insufferable.”
