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“But do me a favour?” asked Oliver. “Hand your camera to your friends occasionally. Let them take pictures of you, too.” He kissed the top of her head. “Trust me, Bug, they’ll thank you one day.”

“Bug! As in shutter—” She grinned. “Aw, you’re lovely.”

“That’s because you bring out the best in me.”

Gazing up at him, Georgie clutched the cellophane-wrapped flowers he’d given her against her chest. “Who’s killing who now?” She gestured toward the brick building. “Shame our night ends here.”

“Nice place,” said Oliver. “Kinda midcentury, 1950s-ish.” They stopped just shy of the four cement steps leading to the front door. “You have hockey tomorrow?”

She turned to face him. “After waitressing. Wanna join me afterward at the bar?”

“I wish I could, but I’m finishing a speech for Amalia. I have to fax it to her hotel in Spain Sunday evening so it’ll be waiting for her Monday.”

“She commandeered your entire weekend?” Georgie shook her head. “The woman needs to learn what boundaries are.”

“Yeah, she wanted it for tomorrow, but I pushed back, said I had plans tonight that were too important to cancel.” Oliver met Georgie’s eyes and smiled.

The compliment wrapped around her like a warm hug. “I’m glad you did.” She let out a visible staggered breath. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

The flowers’ cellophane crinkled as she fidgeted. “Why didn’t you kiss me on the subway steps that day?”

He paused. “I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure if you were as interested in me as I was in you.”

“Oh, I was interested!”

Oliver swept several strands of hair from her eyes. “I know that now.”

“Thank god!” She smiled.

“Sometimes I overthink things and…don’t act. Take the presentation. I debated calling you before you called me. Mulled over the pros and cons for days, then did nothing. It’s a terrible habit, one I’m working on.”

She shifted closer. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe I can help you with that.” Georgie leaned in and Oliver took command with a soft press of his lips and a flirty sweep of his tongue, proving he was a man of his word.

TWENTY-FOUR

GEORGIE

The next day, Saturday, November 14, 1992

Leafs record: 9 wins, 5 losses, 2 ties (in overtime)

“Here’s to beating the Bruins 4-1 in the Boston Garden!” Rising from their booth in McNally’s, Georgie held her glass high and clinked her vodka gimlet with her friends’ beers, wine coolers, and cocktails as highlights of Glenn Anderson’s goals played on the big screen. She downed a pleased sip and eyed Michael stood near the end of their booth in his Zezel jersey, finishing a long pull on his beer. “And to Bou, winning our bet!”

“Fuck YEAH!” Michael acknowledged his best friend with a tilt of his prize. “Cheers, Gi!” Grinning ear to ear, he resumed his conversation with Randall and Davis, who was chewing gum in an attempt to quit smoking.

Georgie sat down, glancing to her immediate left. “Speaking of bets, Kaitlin…”

Pausing mid-page flip, Kaitlin looked up from her Now magazine. “You mad?”

“Hell no. I’ve never been the focus of a bet before. Made me feel special.” She licked away the lingering taste of lime from her bottom lip and set down her glass. “Michael said you’re worried I’ll do an Andrea.”

“Yeah, please don’t,” said Stefanie, sat on Georgie’s right. “I can’t stomach losing another friend.”