Page 26 of Playing for Keeps

14

MAX

Charity galas aren’t my thing. They never have been. I can deal with a locker room full of sweaty guys or a rink with twenty thousand fans screaming bloody murder, but in a ballroom with too many chandeliers, I’ll be counting down the minutes until I can leave. Grace had asked – no, begged me – to come tonight, so here I was in my tux, nursing a whisky like it was the only friend I had left.

The foundation’s annual fundraiser was a big deal. It was all about art, books and education, which is a worthy cause, but all the extravagance was a bit much for my taste. We were in one of the fanciest hotels in downtown Toronto. Round tables were covered in white linen, with huge floral arrangements in the middle blocking half of your view of the people sitting across from you. Everyone looked like they had just stepped out of one of those ridiculously glossy magazines.

I could handle it. A night of smiling, small talk, and watching Grace do her thing. I was simply here because she loved this kind of event and I loved her.

Grace had disappeared about ten minutes ago, and when she returned, she looked like she had just hit the jackpot. Her eyes sparkled, her curls bounced more than usual, and she squealed with joy as she sat down next to me.

She could hardly contain herself when she said, “You will not believe who I just met in the bathroom.”

I raised an eyebrow and took a slow sip. “No idea.”

“One of my all-time favourite writers. And she was so nice, Max. I mean, insanely nice. Don’t laugh, but my strap broke and she fixed it for me. With a safety pin. Can you believe that? Who still carries a safety pin in their purse?”

I smirked. “Seems like your new best friend does.”

“Yes! Exactly. And we talked, and she was so down-to-earth. She’s here in Toronto for a while, and guess what? I invited her over to our table.”

Of course she did. I sighed and drank the last of my whisky. Books. They were going to talk about books.

Grace shot me a look, reading my thoughts just as easily as always. “Don’t you dare roll your eyes. Max, she’s amazing. You’ll see. Please try to be nice, all right?”

I snorted. “I’m always nice.”

She gave me the kind of look only an older sister can give, the kind that said don’t push it, kid, I know every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.

Fine. If they were going to spend the next half hour dissecting Canadian literature or whatever, I was going to need another drink.

“Be right back,” I said as I stood up.

The bar was on one side of the ballroom, looking like it belonged in a movie. It was all dark wood and mirrored shelves holding bottles of different liquors. I leaned against it, ordered another whisky, and took a deep breath.

The bartender, a guy with slicked-back hair and a look that told me he wanted to be anywhere but here, poured generously. “You look like a man in need,” he said.

“You have no idea,” I muttered, accepting the glass.

“Let me guess,” he went on, polishing a glass like bartenders do when they want to talk. “Dragged here by a sister, a date, or guilt?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sister.”

He grinned. “Always the sisters. Mine drags me to yoga.”

“Which one’s worse?” I asked, nodding around the room.

“Depends on the wine list,” he said dryly, and we both laughed.

I stayed there a little longer than necessary, enjoying the break and how the noise of the ballroom faded into the background. But I couldn’t avoid Grace forever, so I tossed back the last sip, put the glass down, and walked back to the table.

And that’s when I saw her.

I almost missed it at first. Grace was leaning forward, her hands moving wildly, talking a mile a minute. Across from her sat a woman in a green dress, laughing, nodding, looking very interested. For a second, I thought that it was just another one of Grace’s bookish colleagues.

Then she turned a little, and I just froze.

Emma.