Page 39 of Playing for Keeps

She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Emma, you always figure it out, whether you’re trying to or not. Trust your instincts.”

Before I could stop myself, I thought of Max: his grin, his ridiculous sense of humour, and the way he had looked at me across the salsa floor as if the rest of the room had disappeared. He had asked me out again after that night, but I had refused again. What’s the point if I’m leaving?

Dad caught only the end of Mum’s words, thinking we were talking about my writing. So of course he asked me how the new book was going.

“It’s going well,” I said, relieved at the subject change. “I’m adding a little more romance this time.”

“Just like Napoleon. Remember that I told you about his romance novel?”

I laughed. “Yes, but not quite the same. I’ve also decided to go ahead with my idea to add some hockey to it.”

“Hockey!” a cousin yelled. “Like ice hockey?”

“Exactly. Not so much the game itself, but the rhythm of it – the speed, the collisions and the pauses. I’m turning it into a kind of metaphor. We’ll see if it works. Denise, my editor, at least thinks it does. She’s been brilliant – honest but encouraging.”

Dad grinned, raising his glass. “And that’s why you write books and I just read them.”

I laughed and clinked my glass against his.

The conversation continued, with another aunt complaining how she never saw the appeal of any sport. And deep down, I felt enveloped by the warmth of my family, the shared love for books, and the laughter that filled the room. And amongst all the chatter, the thought of Max, steady in the back of my mind.

When the night wound down, I went upstairs for a moment and stood at the landing window. I heard people fetching their coats and leftovers being handed out. The garden below was covered in frost and fairy lights twinkled along the fence.

And for the first time since I got back to London, I let myself admit it: I was looking forward to Toronto again.

21

MAX

Emma’s place smelled like laundry and lemon, like she’d cleaned up a little before I came over. Pale January light filled the living room. Her coffee table was huge, wide enough for two people who should have known better than to stand on it, but here we were – boots off, socks on, and both of us wobbling like baby deer.

The lamp looked like it belonged in a museum. It was this wild, cracked ceramic globe with thin gold lines running through it like rivers. If you squinted, you might have thought they were veins. It was also heavy. I held it near the top while Emma fiddled with the ceiling attachment. My arms burned a little, and I made a bit of a show of it.

“Okay, did your mom give you a lamp or a planet?” I said. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m holding Jupiter.”

Emma laughed, tilting her head back, causing her hair to come loose from whatever she had in it. She looked so casual when she was at home. I liked that about her. She reached up again, and her soft British accent slipped out. “Yes, I know, it’s a little dramatic, but do you know how stubborn my mum can be? She tries to learn something new every few months; right now, it’s kintsugi. This lamp was her Christmas present. I had to drag it all the way from London because she insisted it would fit perfectly here. So that’s why we’re standing on this coffee table, and I needed a strong Canadian to help me put this up.”

“Well, you can call on these muscles anytime you like,” I said, grinning. Her eye roll only made me grin wider.

Her face was focused as she held tiny screws between her lips. The ladder was folded up and ignored by the wall because the coffee table “felt safer,” which made no sense at all, but I didn’t argue. I held the ornament as still as possible and tried not to think about how close we were. I tried not to think about how off-limits she should be. Tried, and failed a little.

“So, your trip back home was nice?” I asked, just because I needed something to do with my brain other than count the freckles on her cheeks.

“Wonderful,” she said around a screw, then took it out and said it again, properly. “It was great to see my family again, catch up with everyone, and have Christmas dinner in London. But–” She glanced at me then, a quick look that hit and lingered. “I was looking forward to coming back to Toronto.”

That made me feel something that I didn’t usually acknowledge. A knot in my stomach came undone, and I couldn’t help but smile. I was learning it was the kind of smile I saved for her. A quieter one.

“Okay, let’s do this,” she said.

We shuffled closer together on the table, our socks sliding on the wood. She was right in front of me, arms up, making her sweater ride up an inch, so I could see a little bit of her waist. It made me want to touch that spot. But instead I concentrated on the cord and how the gold cracks of the lamp caught the light. The kintsugi lines made the whole thing look mended and more beautiful for it. I thought about how her mom’s hobby had snuck into our afternoon and how I didn’t mind being a part of it at all.

“There,” she said, finishing the last twist with the tiny screwdriver. “Moment of truth. Let go?”

“Okay, on three? One… two… three.”

I slowly let go. The lamp didn’t fall. We both held our breath for a beat or two, just to be sure it wouldn’t come crashing down and kill us both.

Emma let out a laugh that was all relief. “Excellent, it’s not falling down.”