“And we fly back Monday.”
“Monday afternoon, yeah.” I scroll through the email again. “So that’s a lot of events. A lot of time with my family. A lot of opportunities for this to go wrong.”
“Or a lot of opportunities for this to go right.” He’s looking at me with that expression again. The one that makes me think he actually believes this will work. “Stop worrying. We’ve got this.” He keeps saying that like repetition will make it true. The weird thing is, whenhe says it, my shoulders actually drop a fraction. Like my body believes him even if my brain doesn’t.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“How are you so confident about everything?”
“Because I’m very good at reading rooms and playing whatever role I need to play. And because—” He pauses. “Because I actually want to help you. This isn’t just some favor I’m doing to be nice. I want you to have a good time this weekend. I want your family to love me. I want your ex to see what he gave up. And I want you to stop looking like you’re waiting for everything to fall apart.”
The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you care so much? You barely know me.”
“Maybe I want to know you better.”
“You could have just asked me out like a normal person.”
“I did. You said no. Multiple times.”
Okay, he’s got me there. “So this is your backup plan? Fake-date me for a week and hope I eventually like you?”
“Is it working?”
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. Because the truth is that it might be working. Sitting here in first class with him, watching him be effortlessly charming and genuinely kind and completely unfazed by the insanity of this situation, I’m starting to see what he’s been trying to show me for months.
That he’s not just some hockey player hitting on me. That underneath all that confidence and charm, there might actually be someone worth knowing.
That maybe I’ve been keeping him at a distance because it was safer than letting him get close.
“Ask me again at the end of the week,” I say finally.
“Deal.” He settles back in his seat, looking satisfied with that answer. “Now. Tell me more about these embarrassing childhood photos your mom’s going to show me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on. I need to be prepared.”
“You’ll survive the surprise.”
“Will I though? What if there’s one of you with braces and a terrible haircut and I can’t keep a straight face?”
“I never had braces.”
“Of course you didn’t. You probably had perfect teeth from birth.”
“I did actually.”
“Show off.”
I’m smiling again. The real one. And from the way he’s looking at me, he definitely notices.
The flight attendant announces we’re starting our descent into Toronto. I look out the window at the city coming into view, the familiar skyline making my stomach clench. Home. Except it hasn’t felt like home in three years. Not since I left for college in Seattle.
