Page 133 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

"Oh, sweetheart." She laughs. "You absolutely have a face."

I shake my head. " You called the wrong person."

"No, I called exactly the right person and you answered."

"Technicality."

"It counts."

I laugh despite myself. God, I've missed this. Working in different cities means most of our conversations happen exactly like this—FaceTime calls squeezed into evenings after work, usually while one of us is eating dinner far too late.

"I was just thinking about you," I say.

"Liar."

I laugh again. "You really aren't going to let me get away with anything tonight, are you?"

"Not a chance."

She takes a sip of tea. "So..." she asks casually, "When are you coming home for a weekend?"

"Soon."

"You've been saying 'soon' for a month."

"I know."

"You've been busy."

"...Yeah."

She studies me over the rim of her mug. "Busy?" A tiny smile appears. "...or distracted?"

I roll my eyes. "You're impossible."

"I'm observant. There's a difference."

I smile into my soup. Another thing I miss. Nobody understands my expressions quite like Keisha. She watched me survive twelve-hour shifts, double shifts, the occasional twenty-two-hour marathon when staffing fell apart and neither of us had the energy to remember whose turn it was to go home.

She knows exactly what I sound like when I'm exhausted, when I'm frustrated, and when I'm pretending to be fine.

Tonight... she apparently knows something else too. "You look happy."

The words catch me off guard. I blink. "I'm tired."

"No." She smiles. "Happy."

I laugh. "You've officially lost it."

"Have I?"

She tilts her head. You've smiled six times since you answered."

"I always smile."

"No."

She points toward the screen. "You smile like that."