Page 34 of Playing for Keeps

That got another laugh, gentler this time, and the tension eased in my shoulders even more. I opened the book and let the familiar words anchor me.

The room fell silent and the rustling of coats stopped. And then I began to read out loud, my voice changing to the other register – the one I always forget I have until I’m standing in front of a room, sending words out into the air and watching them land.

18

MAX

The Art Gallery of Ontario is so big that it’s hard to take it all in at once: high ceilings, polished floors and a smell of clean air mixed with a hint of wood. Emma was walking in front of me, her scarf neatly wrapped around her neck and her eyes lighting up every time she looked at one of the paintings. She said she’d been here before, but today she wanted to show me the Canadian collection.

I just followed her, pretending to know what I was looking at. Some of the paintings were amazing, others… not so much. We stopped in front of a canvas that was filled with splashes of colour and rough shapes. I squinted and couldn’t resist shaking my head.

“To be honest? This looks like something my nephew Lucas would’ve made. And he’s five. He gives me one of these every time he finds crayons.”

Emma burst out laughing. It was the kind of laugh that comes from deep within and can’t be faked. She pulled on my sleeve, just lightly, like she couldn’t help herself. The gesture hit me harder than I expected. It felt casual, but somehow intimate. And I found myself smiling back at her, no longer focused on the painting.

We moved slowly through the rooms, stopping occasionally to let the silence fill the space. Then she stopped in front of a big painting and I almost bumped into her.

It was a Lawren S. Harris painting called Above Lake Superior. Cool blues and greys of sky and water, the land shaped into clean, almost otherworldly forms.

“Wow,” Emma whispered. “Look at how he painted the light.”

I looked at the painting for a second, but then my eyes moved to her. The way she tilted her head and softened her gaze made it seem like she was part of the scene. She was completely absorbed.

“Yeah, it’s… something.”

Noticing my pause, she glanced back at me. I cleared my throat and nodded toward the bench in the middle of the room. “Let’s sit here for a bit.”

We sat side by side. People walked by us, their footsteps muffled and their voices low, but we’d carved out a space just for the two of us.

Once again, I was surprised that I was so at ease with her. I didn’t need to fill the silence with a joke or a story. Just sitting there with her, looking at the painting, was enough. More than enough. For a guy who is used to the constant noise of the rink, this quiet was new. It felt different. And I didn’t want it to end.

The café was warm and inviting, with amber light and the low hum of voices. Emma ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream and then she gave me that look. “You should try it. Trust me.”

“I’m more of a coffee guy,” I protested, looking over the menu.

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, challenging me. “Live a little, Max.”

I sighed, but decided to give in. “Fine. Hot chocolate.”

When the mugs arrived, I took a sip. The warmth spread through me right away and it was richer than I had expected. “Okay,” I admitted, “this is really good.”

Emma leaned back with a smug smile. “See? You should listen to me more often.”

“Dangerous advice… You know,” I smirked, “if you keep being right, I’m going to start thinking you’re trying to impress me.”

Before she could fire back, my phone buzzed on the table. It was Grace.

Where are you?

I typed back:

AGO café. With Emma.

No way, I’m in the area. Want to meet up?

I looked up at Emma. “Grace is in the neighbourhood.”

Her face brightened. “Tell her to stop by. The more the merrier.”