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“I get your concerns,” I said, hoping to put him at ease. “This year’s festival is twice as long as before—four days instead of two. It seems daunting to me at times, and I’ve been planning these for a few years now. Whatever you need to feel comfortable, please let me know.”

He nodded, though I wasn’t sure I’d provided him with any sense of calm.

I handed him a festival schedule. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a mock-up of Olivia’s gorgeous program that would let him see how much care we were putting into the weekend. I gave him a moment to read it over, noticing that he ran his finger under each line of text, some lines more slowly than others.

“Do you mind if I record our talk so I’ve got good notes?” He pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up.

“No, of course not.” Once he set the phone between us, I continued. “Let’s start with the opening ceremony. You’ll give a brief speech and take part in the usual tree planting.”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “Speech?”

“Just a few words to kick things off. We added that last year as a way for everyone to hear from the grand marshal.”

He nodded. “Ah. That’s what I get for missing the opening last year. I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“We can work on it together if you’d like.”

He nodded, relief evident in his expression. “I might take you up on that. Thanks.”

As we went through the schedule, Ethan’s anxiety seemed to fluctuate. The fingers on his left hand lightly tapped an irregular rhythm on the table. It was oddly endearing.

The way he looked at me as he listened to the event details, on the other hand, was a little distracting. A small crease kept forming between his eyebrows, and I inexplicably wanted to smooth it away.

I mentally shook myself. Why was I noticing these things?

This was Ethan Gallagher, the guy who’d infuriated me in high school because he didn’t want to take part in anything that wasn’t hockey.

And yet I couldn’t deny the flutter in my chest as his blue eyes reflected a vulnerability I hadn’t expected. There were also the freckles sprinkled across his nose, and how the stood out against his pale skin.

“On Saturday you’ve got a couple of things. Before the hockey game, you’ll help judge the crafts competition. You’ve seen that before, right? The Pride-themed things that people create?”

Ethan’s tapping intensified. “Yeah. I’ve seen that before. But what am I judging on? I’m not sure I’m qualified to judge anything.”

“Creativity, originality, use of a maple element, and relevance to the Pride theme. Don’t worry, you’re always one of three judges and there’s specific instruction on the categories. If it helps, I can email you the rubrics tomorrow.” I paused, studying him. “Are you okay?”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… more than I expected. Getting the criteria tomorrow would be great so I can study.”

“Will do.” I made a note in my digital notebook. “And I don’t think you’re going to have to study. Plus the judging forms will have the criteria listed too.”

Ethan fidgeted with the schedule papers I’d given him. “Any chance you can send the forms too? It’ll help to be familiar with them since this is my first time.”

“We should have those ready by Tuesday, and then I can get them to you.” I made another note. “Is that okay?”

“I appreciate that.”

I hesitated but decided to ask the question that was nagging at me. “Is this stress why you never participated in events back in high school? Other athletes did events all the time, especially captains. But you avoided them.”

Ethan’s posture stiffened. He took his hands off the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “I was busy. Balancing studying and hockey took up a lot of time.”

His response seemed evasive, and I couldn’t let it go. It was practically the same response I got back then. “But surely you could have made time in the offseason? It seemed… out of character for someone in your position. I mean…”

Ethan’s eyes flashed with—anger? Hurt?

“Look, Andre, I get that you’re trying to understand.” His voice was tight with frustration and weariness. “I don’t need to be bullied all over again about the choices I made in school. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

His words hit hard, and I almost put my hands up in defense.

Bully him? Was that how he saw our interactions? I hadn’t realized. Bullying was the last thing I’d ever want to do. I took a deep breath, tamping down my confusion and hurt, not to mention some anger at the accusation.