Page 11

“Principal’s office.” Eden swirled her spoon through the small pasta letters doused in tomato sauce. An affordable, stomach-filling meal she often served her kids, Eden loved Alphagetti even more than they did. “Laporte was passing around his photos from last week’s Jays game. They sat right behind home plate.”

“They?” asked Georgie pointedly.

Eden fluttered her lashes. “Darling, would he be there with anyone else?”

Georgie wrinkled her nose like she’d smelled something bad. So much for a new school year bringing forth a level playing field. Clearly, Brian’s odious old tricks were back and bigger than ever. However, the staff lounge was not the place for a prolonged analysis of his latest bout of sucking up, so she switched gears. “How was your weekend?”

“Exhausting.” Eden blew on a spoonful of her lunch as three more teachers arrived, their loud chatter forcing Georgie to drag her chair closer. “Saturday was my cousin’s baby shower, then Sunday the twins had soccer and a last-minute birthday party. After that, we drove across the city to pick up their Girl Guide cookies.”

Georgie straightened up. “Ooh, the mint ones, right? Put me down for five boxes, please.”

“Already did,” replied Eden. “What’d you get up to?”

“Not much.” Georgie poked a blob of ricotta cheese with her fork. “Cleaned. Did some marking and proofread the newspaper’s next issue.”

Eden shot her some good-humoured side-eye. “And here I thought single gals had all the fun.”

“I did! Michael came over both nights. We made pizza and listened to the preseason games on the radio⁠—”

“You didn’t go?” Disbelief stiffened Eden’s voice.

“The team was away. Pittsburgh on Saturday, New York on Sunday.” Catching her friend’s ‘Oh!’ head tilt, Georgie plowed ahead with the news she’d been waiting to share. “One unexpected thing happened, though. I served the PhD from the museum Saturday morning.”

Eden flinched, her spoon clanking inside her bowl. “Talk about burying the lede! Did he recognize you?”

“Not at first, no,” said Georgie. “And I didn’t clue in to who he was till he paid by card and I saw the last name Jönsson.”

“What’s his first? I bet it’s something nerdy but sexy!” Eden’s grin parted for a spoonful of Alphagetti.

“It’s Oliver. He’s from Sweden originally.”

“Mmm, of course he is!” Eden mumbled as she ate. “Smart, sexy, and Scandinavian.”

“He was working in the UK before he came to Toronto. Arrived a few weeks ago.”

“And…?” Blinking expectantly, Eden shifted closer.

Georgie rested her fork on the edge of her microwave-safe bowl. “You were right. He is nice.” Recalling his charismatic smile and pale grey eyes, a surprising flutter tickled her chest. “Handsome, too.” With his tousled brown hair and commanding height, Oliver could easily give any of the male models advertising cologne in Eden’s dog-eared issue of Flare magazine a run for their money.

Eden drew back and beamed mischievously, stretching her “Re—al—ly!” into three uncomfortable syllables. “I hope you exchanged numbers. Oh—you should take him to The BamBoo! Live music, pad thai, dancing!” Whenever Georgie mentioned crossing paths with an attractive male, Eden would spring into full-fledged date-planning mode.

Scanning the room and praying no one overheard, Georgie made a dismissive face. “We exchanged nothing.” She reached into the purse hanging on the back of her chair with her reusable fabric shopping bag from Eaton’s department store and pulled out her wallet. “But he did apologize for his boring presentation.”

“Aww. Gotta love a guy who’s self-aware enough to apologize.” Eden sifted through her pasta letters.

“He also asked if I’d help him with their school presentations, help make ’em more engaging,” added Georgie.

Eden lit up again. “Awesome! I hope you⁠—”

“I said no.” Shutting her down, Georgie fished a blue five-dollar bill and five loonies out of her wallet. “I don’t have time.” She placed the ten dollars on the table.

Eden dissolved into an exaggerated sigh. “Where have I heard that before.”

“Don’t start.” Georgie twisted around and dropped her wallet in her purse.

“Somebody has to since you won’t.” Setting down her spoon, Eden leaned in. “Georgie.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “You’re going to end up alone if you keep rejecting guys with the ‘I’m busy’ excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse, it’s a reason.” Georgie escaped into the colourful photos of the Trevi Fountain. Planning trips she’d never take was her favourite pastime. She’d routinely pick up travel brochures, tabbing them with sticky notes while figuring out what clothes she’d pack, but that’s as far as Georgie ever got. “And anyway”—she turned a page, discovering an enticing image of the Grand Canal in Venice—“it’s not like he asked me out.”