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Oliver shook his head. “Bug, you look knackered. Really, I don’t mind.”
With no energy to argue, Georgie acquiesced and closed her eyes, letting him finish what he’d started. He didn’t even grumble about how long it took.
When he’d finally finished, he rushed out of the bedroom then reappeared with a small shaving mirror. He held it at different angles so Georgie could get a thorough look. “How is it?”
The sides were slightly frizzy and her pesky cowlick was misbehaving, but Georgie didn’t care. Oliver had made her feel human again. “Perfect.”
Looking relieved, he pawed the back of his neck. “Good. I was bricking it. I’ve never washed someone’s hair before.”
“Wouldn’t know it.” Georgie grinned, her heart full. “Ollie, thank you for taking care of me.”
“Always.” He smiled, wrapping the cord around the hairdryer.
He means it, too. Treasuring every glance, every touch in their private bubble, Georgie had no desire to be anywhere else. If only they could stay an extra day and not rush back to Toronto on Saturday. Georgie never skipped weekend hockey, but she would if it meant more alone time with Oliver. She’d always love her Leafs, but she knew they’d never love her back, not in any real way, not like Ol—
You’re jumping the gun again. Georgie caught herself and gave Waffles a pat. Maybe Oliver wouldn’t love her either, but at least he made her feel loved, and that was worth much more than a Saturday night hockey game.
“I still want to reciprocate, do something special for you,” she said. “What if I cooked you dinner?”
Shutting his closet door, his brows quirked. “You hate cooking.”
“Yeah, but I love y—!” Oh fuck! Georgie froze still, her pulse taking flight as heat climbed her neck. Damn, migraine brain!
Oliver’s amusement faded into an expression that—well, she’d never seen him look like that before.
Georgie gulped. Pretending wouldn’t save her now. “I love you, I do”—she blinked, owning it, dreading the worst—“Ollie.”
He dropped onto his bed as a slow smile meandered across his face. “I love you, too.”
Dizzy with joy and lingering migraine fuzziness, a burst of relieved laughter bubbled up Georgie’s throat. “And here I thought I’d just made our last two days here really awkward!”
“No chance, Shutterbug.” Oliver gathered her in his arms. “I’ve loved you for weeks.” He planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
“Really?! Well, if we’re sharing confessions—I, Georgina Law, love you more than the Leafs!”
“Wha—wow!” His voice rose. “That’s…that’s A LOT!”
“Yep” Georgie stared at his mouth. “I think that calls for a kiss. A proper one.”
Grin widening, Oliver cupped her face and kissed her softly as she slipped her arms around his neck. Her tongue flirted with his lips, and Oliver let her in, the two of them dissolving in a tangled heap on the pillows.
THIRTY-SEVEN
GEORGIE
Two days later, Friday, March 19, 1993
Leafs record: 37 wins, 25 losses, 9 ties (in overtime)
“I’m chuffed to discover how fucking brilliant you are! Obviously, Oliver’s told me things, but you never know, right?” As he lifted what was left of his gin and tonic, Rafferty scanned the pub like he was checking for Oliver’s whereabouts, then he leaned conspiratorially across the table. “Georgie, please tell me you’ll move over and have lots of dogs and babies.”
Her mouth going dry, she half-laughed. “You sound like my friend Stef.” She reached downward, scratching Waffles behind the ears.
“You would fit in so well here,” said Rafferty. “We could have games nights and hit all the fun restaurants. I’d even take you up to Nottingham to see the Panthers play ice hockey if you’d like.”
“There’s a league here?”
“Regional ones, yeah, and the Panthers are pretty good—so my brother tells me.” He sat back, combing his fingers through his thick shoulder-length brown hair. “To be fair, I don’t know a hockey puck from a football. But I could learn if it means hanging out with you.”
