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Georgie slid two 4” x 6” colour photos of hockey players in full flight inside the envelope and scratched the shoulder of her cozy-looking Leafs hoodie. “Oliver?” She leaned in as the banter amongst four male fan club members at a second table grew boisterous. “I know this isn’t ideal.” She swiped a glue stick along the adhesive strip of the envelope and folded it closed. “I’ll just answer a few letters, then we can get started.”

“No, it’s all right. Take your time. You’re doing me the favour, not the other way around.”

As she tossed the sealed envelope in a box labelled ‘Outgoing Mail’, Oliver started rolling up his right sleeve, hiding the stain.

But Georgie’s gaze had already circled back and she seemed transfixed, watching the wool retreat from his forearm.

Shit. She spotted it. Oliver gritted his teeth. She’ll think I’m a mess! He glanced across the table and caught Kaitlin, the fan club president, sharing a stealth smile with the Black woman sat to her left, an affable fan in a chunky wool sweater introduced minutes earlier as Leesa. Rolling up his left sleeve to match the right, he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Great. They all will.

Scrunching a serviette in her palm, Kaitlin met his eyes and grinned kindly, her flushed cheeks complimented by her baggy pink sweatshirt promoting something Oliver had never heard of called MuchMusic. “That’s our Georgie!” she exclaimed, discarding the napkin on the table. “Always willing to volunteer, even when she has a waitressing shift in two hours.”

“Hey, a promise made is a promise kept, Kait.” Georgie picked up her tea, stealing a quick sip.

Kaitlin rooted around inside a small gold and brown bag filled with something moreish, if the number of times she’d stuffed its matchstick-shaped munchies into her mouth was anything to go by. “But even better, you brought Oliver, and he brought mmmuffins!” She tugged a box piled high with what looked like tiny round donut holes toward him. “Make yourself at home, okay? Have some Timbits or”—Kaitlin leaned across the table, offering her bag of snacks—“Hickory Sticks. They’re savoury, smoky deliciousness.” She shook the bag, shuffling its contents closer to the jagged opening. “Try ’em!”

Oliver preferred sweet over salty in the morning and, much like his former twelve-year-old self, had picky tendencies when it came to flavours and textures. However, not wanting to appear rude by declining her Canadian snacks, he held out his hand. “Sure.”

A smile spreading across her face, Kaitlin poured a generous heap into his palm.

Stuck with way too many, Oliver feigned a gleeful grin. “Thanks.” He placed the smallest pinch on his tongue and chewed tentatively. Smoky. Salty. Somewhat sweet. Mmm! Kaitlin was right. These bacon-esque matchsticks were savoury and delicious.

“So here’s a fun piece of Swedish trivia.” She sat down. “ABBA played their last ever North American concert right here in ’79.”

“Really?” Georgie opened another letter. “Did you go?”

“With my grandmother. We sat in the blues.”

Georgie turned to Oliver. “Have you seen them?”

He nodded. “In Stockholm. Same tour.”

“You into hockey, Oliver?” asked Leesa, working her way through a stack of mail and an oatmeal cranberry muffin.

Surrounded by die-hard fans in their beloved arena, Oliver opted for a tactful twist on his truth. “I’ve watched it casually, but I’m not much of a fan—of any sport.”

“Oh.” Leesa pressed her lips slightly and resumed reading the letter she was holding. An awkward silence descended around their table.

Well, that answer was about as popular as a swarm of wasps at a backyard barbecue. Oliver blinked and leaned forward, a mollifying smile gracing his lips. “But convince me otherwise! What do you like about it? Why hockey, Leesa?”

She glanced up again, her mouth quirking at the corners. “Well, it’s our game, right? It’s part of our Canadian identity. My twin brother played when we were kids and I would’ve too, but girls weren’t allowed in his league, so I opted for road hockey with friends instead.”

“CAR!” hollered Kaitlin.

Leesa laughed. “The bane of every Canadian kid’s existence. Loved it, though.”

“I played briefly in a girls’ league but was a terrible skater and couldn’t keep up.” Kaitlin flicked her head, shooing her mahogany bangs from her eyes. “That’s what I love most about hockey—the speed. It’s go-go-go, unlike baseball or football.”

Nodding, Oliver devoured the remaining hickory snacks in his hand.

“It also makes winter bearable ’cause snowbanks and windchills get old pretty fast,” added Leesa. “It’s the perfect distraction.”

As she wrote a fan’s return address, a twinkle shone in Georgie’s eyes. “And in winter, hockey is the most fun you can have with your clothes on.”

Oliver’s gaze widened as Leesa snort-laughed and said, “I need that on a t-shirt!”

“Next fan club design,” replied Kaitlin, her straight face collapsing into an impish grin.

Oliver studied a scattering of fan art on the table. “So what do you get out of being a fan?”