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“Our players usually come in too, but we play Minnesota tomorrow,” said Kaitlin.
Leesa nodded. “This place is always busy, whether they’re here or not. Some people come just to meet Will and get his autograph.”
“Will’s the owner?” Oliver bit off a chunk of carrot.
“Yeah, owner, bartender, life coach.” Georgie let out a laugh. “He’s like a surrogate dad to us.”
Oliver almost choked on his carrot stick.
“He always seems to know when I’ve had a bad day. He’ll bring me wings and fries, and say, ‘On the house.’” Georgie grinned pensively. “His kindness reminds me of my dad.”
Her words were like a kick to Oliver’s gut, a reminder of the relationship he never had.
Obviously, Georgie was fond of Will McNally with his fatherly ways and free fries, but how would she react when she found out he was also Oliver’s deadbeat dad?
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only member of Will’s cheering section.
“He’s a beauty. Sent my mum flowers when she was in hospital last year.” Michael loaded his plate with wings.
“Sounds like he cares about his customers,” said Oliver. But not his son.
“Will’s one of the reasons we’re here so often.” Georgie’s attention drifted beyond Oliver, toward the next section. “Ohh.”
His stomach dipped as he followed her gaze, but it wasn’t Will in Georgie’s sights. A redhead in a navy blue dress stood near the large screen showing hockey highlights. Waving, she beckoned Georgie to join her.
She placed the half-eaten chicken wing on her plate and grabbed a serviette. “I think I’m needed.”
Oliver stood, allowing Georgie to exit the booth. Her friends exchanged looks as she sidestepped sloshed patrons and squeezed past a group celebrating someone’s birthday.
Leesa craned her neck. “Is Stef all right?”
“Hope so,” said Kaitlin, over the rim of her glass. “Gi will look after her.”
“Always does.” Michael caught Oliver’s eye. “Georgie’s like the lost and found of Carlton Street. She takes everyone in: lapsed fans, eager newcomers, usherettes. All are welcome in our happy, humble little family.”
Oliver glanced toward the neighbouring section again. Stef didn’t look happy. Tears of mascara trailed down her face and her curly topknot was toppling over. Georgie rubbed her back and listened intently as they turned down a narrow hall and vanished from view.
“Typical goalie,” said Randall. “Fiercely loyal, dependable. Always takes one for the team.”
Kaitlin pointed. “But doesn’t take no shit.”
“You should’ve seen Gi between the pipes,” said Michael. “She hacked a few shins, let me tell ya.”
Talk at the table swerved to Oliver’s impressions of Toronto and Michael and Randall’s desire to dance on a live TV show called The Electric Circus as an ironic joke. Oliver listened more than he spoke, learning more about Georgie’s inner circle. Bubbly Michael was a massive music fan—something Oliver could relate to—while Randall came off as eloquent and thoughtful, his daytime hours spent in a skyscraper on Bay Street toiling within the banking industry. Leesa and Kaitlin were just like they had been during that morning’s fan mail session—welcoming and chatty.
Despite not knowing any of them well, Oliver was mostly at ease, and when the dance floor’s soundtrack of Snap! and Black Box thumped through the speakers, he found himself transported back to London and CD shopping in HMV on Oxford Street, where the same artists ruled the store’s sound system. As “I Don’t Know Anybody Else” filled the dancefloor, Georgie returned to the table alone.
“Everything okay?” asked Leesa.
Georgie let out a sharp exhale and sat beside Oliver. “Stef’s boyfriend left her a message saying he’d met someone else.”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “The dirty fucker!”
“But he sent her a dozen roses two days ago?!” said Kaitlin.
“Guilt flowers!” Leesa snarled. “If karma’s a thing, he’ll never make it back to the NHL.”
Glancing between Georgie’s friends, Oliver cleared his throat. “I take it she’s dating a player?”
