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Will tsked into a wince. “Oh, Ollie. You don’t look so good.” He patted Oliver’s arm, thanked someone over his shoulder, then guided his son to the chair in his office. “Did you fly like this?”

“No, no, no.” Oliver burped. “Juss at home.”

“What’d you have?” His eyes raked over his son’s stained button-down. “Beer?”

Oliver shrugged, his eyes stinging.

“Well”—Will scratched his neck—“let’s get you sobered up.”

A pang of longing knifed Oliver below the ribs and he sank into the chair. “I miss Geor-zee.”

Will’s face softened. “I know you do, son.”

Oliver’s heart pined and ached. He hugged himself and crumpled, surrendering to the tears he’d been holding back for god knows how long.

Will edged past and left a box of tissues plus a plate with a burger and fries on the stack of boxes beside the chair. “Oliver, try to eat, okay? It’ll make you feel better.”

“No…nothing will.” Warm tears blurred the burger and his father. “Have you…has she…?”

Sitting on the edge of the desk, Will rubbed his jaw. “Georgie hasn’t been in. Michael said she’s having a rough time, which makes sense. Everything she’s worked toward is hanging in the balance.”

“Can you call her? Make sure she’s”—Oliver hiccupped—“fine.”

“I have. I left messages,” said Will. “She called back, but I missed her. She sounded tired, said she’s taking things day by day. Won the hockey pool, so that’s something, but still hasn’t heard where she’ll be assigned next fall.”

“She ask ’bout me?”

Will offered a sad smile. “She did, but…give her time.” Getting up from the desk, he patted Oliver on the shoulder.

He swiped roughly at his eyes and cheeks and sniffed, his glassy stare settling on the fries.

“They’re hot and salty. Taste really good. There’s mayo, too.” Will sat behind his desk and sorted through some paperwork. “Try ’em, you’ll like ’em.”

Oliver shook his head but stole a few when Will wasn’t looking. Then he stole a few more.

An hour passed, and he’d drank two glasses of water, visited the washroom, and polished off the burger. Topped with cheese and nothing else, it was exactly how Oliver liked it. His drunken haze had begun to fade, but without the protective shield of intoxication, the raw ache of missing Georgie intensified.

“She feels so far away,” Oliver mumbled, tugging on the hem of his stained and wrinkled button-down.

Will looked up from his purchase orders and invoices.

“We’re in the same city, but I might as well be back in London.”

Will sighed. “Emotional distance is a killer. You can be in the same room and feel like strangers. Once you lose that intimacy, it’s over.” He stared down at his desk. “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Oliver rubbed his puffy eyes. “So what do I do?”

“Only you know the answer to that, son.”

Oliver had been wrestling with different options since London, some heart-wrenching, others challenging, all imperfect. He dragged a French fry through a blob of mayonnaise, his heart heavy. Maybe Georgie and I aren’t meant to be after all.

Silence descended between father and son, and hockey play-by-play and the bar’s boisterous clientele filled the void. Oliver picked at the remaining fries and Will left the office for a spell, returning with another glass of water.

“Sorry, got yapping with a guy who works for the Durham District School Board,” said Will. “I told him about Georgie, how she’s in the career fight of her life. He said he’ll keep his ears open. I will, too. You never know, we get all sorts in here.”

Nodding forlornly, Oliver accepted the water and glanced at the crumpled serviette on his plate. “Will, how’d you know what I like on my burger and fries? I didn’t tell you.”

“You did when you were six. I took you out for a burger and ice cream before I caught my flight home.”