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“I never said anything about George Clooney.”
“Brad Pitt?”
“I wonder what comes up if you google ‘How to outsmart the Italian mafia?’” he says jokingly.
“On it.” My fingers fly over my phone screen, but then I moan with disappointment when the search results come up. “Boo. Just a bunch of Quora questions.”
Sawyer comes to me, taking the phone, and cupping my face in his hands. He looks me in the eye with the most tender expression, I could die happy right now.
“You’re not leaving my side,” he says. “Understand?”
I nod. He could probably ask me anything right now and I’d nod like a ragdoll.
“I don’t want to let you out of my sight. I don’t want you to be alone at all. From now on, you’ll come to work with me and stay with Emily in the Zamboni office during all the games. I’ll feel safer with the security guards at the Blizzard Dome than you waiting for me at home.”
“Okay.”
“I wish I didn’t have to take you to Boston, but you’ll be safe if you stay inside Siobhan’s house.”
“Psh! Screw that. I’m taking back my Otto if I have to comb all of Boston. What if those mobster goons forget to give him his pistachios? Or worse, what if they teach him bad Italian?”
“You scare me sometimes, Magpie.”
“We ride at dawn!” I cry.
He laughs. “Okay, Aragorn,” he says, already pulling up flight options on his phone. “Get your passport ready. One does not simply walk into the bowels of Boston’s crime syndicate.”
I blink at him. “I’ve never had a passport in my life. I’ve never even left Canada.”
Sawyer’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Seriously? Not even a quick trip to Buffalo?”
I shrug. “Foster care kid, remember? Vacations weren’t exactly on the agenda.”
His face softens. “Right. Sorry. Well, looks like we’re about to change that. We’ll need to expedite the passport process.”
Sawyer grabs his laptop and pulls up the Service Canada Centre website, helping me start the application.
“We can get it in a day,” he explains, scrolling through the information. “Urgent pick-up on Yonge Street in North York. It’s available by the end of the next business day, but we’ll need to provide proof of travel.”
I nod, feeling a bit overwhelmed as I start filling out the online application. Suddenly, Sawyer’s hand is on mine, stopping me.
“Wait,” he says, frowning at the screen. “Your name. It’s still Jones?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, and?”
He looks at me, his eyes intense. “Oh hell no,” he says, his voice low and possessive. “My wife. My name.”
"Look, you want to know what marriage is really like? Fine. You wake up, she's there. You come back from work, she's there. You fall asleep, she's there. You eat dinner, she's there. You know? I mean, I know that sounds like a bad thing, but it's not."
— RAY ONEVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND
23
SAWYER
Maggie’s eyes are wide with mirth as she takes in the historic charm of Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood.
Helping her out of the taxi, I find myself soaking in the sight of the familiar street lined with brownstones where Siobhan lives.
