Page 52 of Playing for Keeps

I skipped lunch this time. The Winter Carnival had been whispering to me since I had arrived, and my brain could use a break. The walk there felt like entering a different part of the city – one with colour, noise and families with frost-pinked noses. The air smelled like snow and something sweet, possibly sugar. Then I saw the ice palace, and my feet just stopped.

It’s odd how something so cold can feel so warm. The ice blocks were translucent and looked completely mesmerising. I took a picture, then another, then a short video because the stills weren’t doing it justice.

I sent one to Max.

Me: Look where I am. Don’t tell the conference.

Max: Looks unreal. Ice palace??

Me: The very one. It’s magic. I might come back tonight if I can. Imagine what it’ll look like with the lights.

Max: Send me a selfie with your nerd badge in front of it.

Me: Rude. And fair.

I sent the selfie.

Max: There she is! My fave book nerd.

I couldn’t help myself. I smiled at my phone as if it had told me a joke only I would get. Damn him. When did he become someone I would miss this much?

I walked around the rest of the carnival, watching children pull their parents towards ice slides and listening to a brass band bravely play something jaunty with very cold instruments.

After a while I realised my fingers had gone numb inside my gloves and I had a reception to get back to. Mingling expected, the programme had said. Not usually a problem, but this time the thought made my stomach drop. Henri would be there.

I had avoided him for two days. But tonight there would be too many people and not enough exits. I pushed the dread aside and told myself I was being silly. It would be fine. There would be a lot of people there. I could hopefully spend the whole evening talking about someone else’s students or projects.

When I got back to the hotel, I thawed out, changed, and put on the earrings that always make me feel a little more confident.

The reception room was warm and bright, filled with conversations rising and falling. Servers moved through the crowd with trays of canapés, all smiles and quiet efficiency. I ran into a couple of professors from Halifax and we quickly started talking about funding and book prizes. It was safe and normal and I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I had been holding. So far, so good.

Then I felt it. The feeling of someone standing too close behind you. For a ridiculous second, I hoped it was Max, like he could have just shown up here, but that hope quickly dissolved because Max felt different. This wasn’t him. This was Henri.

I turned around and plastered a polite smile on my face.

“Emma,” he said, in a tone of someone who just caught a friend sneaking out. “Where have you been hiding? I’ve barely seen you.”

“I’ve been very busy: panels, workshops, the usual conference craziness.”

He laughed in a way that was meant to be charming. “Always working. You should take the time to explore Quebec while you’re here. It’s beautiful. Not like Toronto with all that… glass.”

“I did,” I said. “The carnival is wonderful. And Toronto is beautiful in its own way.”

He stepped closer. I took a small step back. He didn’t notice it, or pretended not to.

“Henri,” I said, dropping the smile, “you’re standing very close to me. I feel uncomfortable.”

He blinked, as if he couldn’t believe anyone would say it out loud. Then he recovered and tilted his head. “I’m attracted to you,” he said, as if it were a perfectly reasonable response. “I would like to take you out.”

It’s crazy that some part of your brain worries about being rude at times like this. I made my voice even. “I’m not interested. I see you as a colleague.”

“That’s because you don’t know me yet,” he said, confident as ever. “We should spend some time together. Then you’ll see.”

“No,” I said, because apparently we were doing clarity tonight. “That’s not going to happen.”

For a second we stared at each other across the space he constantly insisted on making smaller. Then I stepped around him, said something that could have been “excuse me” or “goodnight”, and walked away. I was relieved and uncomfortable at the same time. I didn’t stop to find a different conversation and walked straight to the lift. Once inside my room I took off my shoes, sat on the bed, and grabbed my phone. My fingers knew who they wanted to call before my brain caught up.

He picked up straight away.