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Tugging the plastic straw threaded through the lid of her soft drink, Georgie nodded fervently. “Amaz⁠—”

Michael touched her arm. “Gi? Hold this?” He handed Georgie his pop then pulled a folded square of paper from his back pocket. “Be right back.”

Terry and Ezio both stood and backed up against their seats so Michael could leave. Once clear, he bounded down the steps to row C and greeted Kaitlin with open arms.

Ezio pulled his gaze away from their tight hug. “Fan club, eh? Should we join?” He reached past Terry into Michael’s chip bag, helping himself to another handful.

“Like that’s a question!” Setting both hers and Michael’s drinks on the floor, Georgie eyed Kaitlin’s enthralled grin as he babbled on, his hands gesturing and waving with infectious joy. Michael’s jovial sense of fun and adventure always drew people in. “So far, Kaitlin’s booked a skating party here, road trips to Montréal and Buffalo, and a luncheon with the team.”

The arena lights brightened, signalling the pre-game warmups were about to begin. Georgie twisted, spying Michael below; his face contorted as he muttered “Shit!” and shuffled to the end of Kaitlin’s row.

“Where you going?” she yelled downward.

He held up a coin. “To call my sister.”

“Which one?” Ezio chuckled, fanning himself with his program. “Doesn’t he have, like twelve?”

Reaching the landing, Michael snuck past usher Davis, who was helping a family find their seats. “I forgot to set my VCR for the game!” he hollered up to Georgie.

Fighting his way through the crowds to the payphones would take time, and Georgie’s rumbling stomach wasn’t the most patient. Glancing at her popcorn bag wedged in her seat, she cupped her hand beside her mouth and yelled, “Toss me the chocolate!”

Michael yanked the M&Ms from his back pocket and lobbed them high into the air.

Georgie snagged the flying treats with one hand. The former goalie, a playoff MVP for her childhood team, still had skills.

* * *

With only four minutes left in the third period, Washington leading 6-5, and the Leafs just stung with a cross-checking penalty, Georgie lunged forward in her seat, joining the “Ref, you suck” chants rising around her. His call was so egregious she gobbled three fistfuls from a second bag of M&Ms.

Michael spied the deflated packet. “Slow down, Gi. At this rate, I’ll have to renegotiate my mortgage to keep you in chocolate.”

“Be nice.” Georgie attempted to shift her feet away from her empty popcorn bag, but they were stuck to the cement floor—a common, albeit annoying occurrence. “I’m eating my feelings.” She poured the remaining candies into her palm and tossed them back, feeling the heat of Michael’s steady gaze.

He sat silently as Paul Morris, the beloved Gardens’ public address announcer, relayed the details of the penalty, then shifted closer once he was finished. “I have an idea.” Michael lowered his voice, keeping their conversation private. “It won’t change the Vimy decision, but it might help secure the promotion.”

Brow creasing, Georgie did a double take, reluctantly pulling away from the Leafs’ penalty kill. “You’ve changed your mind? I shouldn’t talk to Laporte?”

“No, you should,” Michael clarified, his stare glued to Washington’s offensive charge over Toronto’s blue line. “I just think you should reconsider helping museum guy.”

Georgie made a face and dropped the empty M&Ms packet inside the popcorn bag. “How does helping him help me with the promotion?”

Michael bent forward and picked up his soft drink from between his feet. “How many students are in Houdini’s Canadian history class?”

“Thirty. Why?”

He took a quick sip. “So, thirty students will reap the benefits of that trip.”

“Yeah. Thirty students who aren’t mine.”

A linesman blew his whistle for an icing call and play temporarily stopped.

Michael turned to Georgie. “But if you help with the presentations, your students would benefit at some point, right? And not just your kids, but students from all over the city—the province, even! Now that would look pretty dazzlin’ on the ol’ résumé.” He set his soft drink on the floor.

Georgie hadn’t thought of it like that. She brightened a little.

But just a little.

“Yeahhh, but I can’t serve him his pancakes with a side order of ‘I changed my mind.’” Staring at the ice, she played with the frayed rip in the knee of her jeans. “Talk about flakey!”