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“It’s”—the desire to grasp a railing that didn’t exist rolled through him—“really high.”

“Isn’t it great? You can see plays develop and the battles in the corners. This is where the real fans sit.” Georgie lifted her chin toward her row where, a few seats in, two middle-aged men in Leafs jerseys flipped through a game-night program. “Come, meet my hockey family!”

Introductions to Ezio and Terry followed, as did some playful teasing (“Georgina brought a BOY!”), ebullient praise for her new jersey, and a brief albeit, good-natured interrogation.

“Take good care of our girl,” said Ezio, patting Oliver on the back as he and Georgie inched past, careful not to step on toes or knock Terry and his mustard-smothered hot dog.

Georgie whispered in Oliver’s ear. “I’ve known them since I was small. They’re here every game.”

Oliver’s brows drew in as Terry, cheeks bulging with hot dog, poked the air with a large blue foam finger. “But if they’re always here, why do they need a program?”

“Ezio collects them,” she murmured back. “Has one for every game dating back to 1965.”

“Oh, wow. That’s hardcore.”

“Yep.” Georgie set their pop on the floor and grabbed the coats from the crook of Oliver’s arm. “We all are in different ways. Michael records every game and watches them back the next day. When Leesa broke her foot, she climbed the stairs to her seat with a crutch and a protective boot for six weeks.”

Oliver’s ankle, broken two years earlier in a fall, ached pondering that feat.

“Kait wore black for a week when her favourite player was traded.” Georgie dumped their coats on their seats and stole a piece of popcorn, munching it quickly. “I secretly declined a coworker’s wedding invite because it clashed with a game.”

That last one was…interesting. He flexed his grip on the popcorn bag.

“I know it all might sound wacky,” Georgie added, “but you should know what you’re getting yourself into.” Shrugging, she let out a half-laugh. “Feel free to run now, while you still can!”

Oliver pulled her closer. “Nope. That’s not happening.” He flashed a smile. “I meant it, you know. I love how you love things.”

Grinning, she inched closer, her gaze falling to his lips and⁠—

“Hey, museum man!”

They both turned toward Randall in the row behind. Wearing his Potvin #29 jersey, he hunched down and slapped Oliver on the shoulder. “You made it, dude! Welcome to the beating heart of the city!”

“Yeah, no offence to the Jays or Argos,” said Leesa, cradling a grease-stained cardboard box of nachos, “but Toronto bleeds blue and white of the Leaf variety.”

“I’ve been reading about that, actually,” said Oliver.

Georgie’s mouth quirked at the corners. “You have?”

“After the mail session, I borrowed some books from the library. I had no idea the team’s history was so impressive and deep.”

Leesa raised a balled-up hand to her mouth and coughed—“Keeper”—then coughed again, her unsubtle opinion earning a bounce of Oliver’s brows and a laugh from Georgie.

* * *

Exiting the Gardens after the Leafs 5-1 thumping of San Jose, Oliver possessed three takeaways: one, Georgie cheered much louder than he’d expected; two, despite his doubts, the game was entertaining; and three, he couldn’t recall a single play, goal, or penalty. Blame Georgie and the number of times she grabbed his arm in excitement or bumped his thigh with hers, not to mention her ever-present grin, delighted as if to say, I can’t believe you’re here! Nothing and no one owned his thoughts like she did.

Except maybe Will McNally.

Stepping outside into the frosty air on Church Street, Oliver shivered with apprehension as they headed toward the bar.

“Hey, you cold?” Georgie tightened her grip on his arm and joined Leesa and Randall as they darted across the busy road. “We’ll be inside soon.” She smiled. “We know all the shortcuts.”

Including veering behind the two-storey Warner Bros. building and its neighbour, McNally’s Sports Bar and Grill.

“I can’t wait for you to meet Will!” Georgie grinned up at him.

This is happening too fast. Oliver cleared this throat. “Bug, I know you want to give me the full game-night experience, but don’t you have to get up early tomorrow?”