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Oliver sucked in a breath. “Actually, she left me a message this morning asking if you’d join us.”

Georgie froze mid-handout, the side plate meant for Kaitlin hovering in the air. “Oh?”

Kaitlin reached across the table and prized the dish from her hand.

“She also bumped the meeting back to two-thirty,” said Oliver. “I figured you’d be teaching and unavailable.”

Georgie swallowed. “Well, I⁠—”

“She has a free fourth period on Mondays, don’t ya, Gi?” said Michael.

Georgie turned and looked at her best friend. “Free in name only.” She spoke slowly, her reply measured. “I use it for lesson planning and marking.” Facing Oliver again, her expression softened. “But I could make an exception.”

“Are you sure?” Oliver narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want to add more stress to your week.”

She grinned tightly. “It’ll be fine.” Her attention drifted as their server arrived, arms full of baskets of chicken wings and golden French fries.

He placed their order on the table, and Georgie and her friends thanked him profusely.

Leesa nabbed celery from the wing basket and returned for some fries. “Gi, did you see Eddie Scott?”

Her eyes bulged. “He’s here?” Straightening up, she craned her neck, surveying the bar.

“Davis was chatting with him,” said Leesa. “Knows him from Oshawa!”

“He kept that close to his chest.” Georgie glanced at Oliver as he helped himself to some fries and several carrot sticks. “Eddie plays goal for Chicago. I’ve always loved goalies. I was one growing up.”

Oliver raised his brows. “You? Wow, you’re⁠—”

“I know.” Reaching for a chicken wing, she laughed. “Must have a screw loose, right? Standing in front of flying pucks and enjoying it?”

“Actually, I was going to say you’re very brave.”

A surprised glint arose in her eyes.

“You still play?”

“She should,” Michael wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Georgie was entertaining as fuck. The ultimate risk taker.”

She shrugged. “I liked to roam from the net a bit.”

“Gi racked up a shitload of shutouts, too,” said Michael. “Snipers hated her.”

She leaned into his side hug. “Love you, Bou, but you are beyond biased.” Michael lifted his arm, and Georgie placed her chicken wing on her plate. “I stopped in my late teens.” She glanced at Oliver. “I had to make a choice: keep playing or keep my dad’s season seats. Mum couldn’t afford both.”

Randall arrived with a tray of drinks. “Georgie?” He set her Coke down in front of her. “Eddie Scott’s still here if you want his autograph.”

As Randall doled out the beverages, she picked up her glass and angled the straw toward her lips, looking like she was mulling over the idea. “Hmm. Better not. He’s unwinding with teammates. I don’t want to bother him.”

“Unlike Davis.” Randall sat beside his sister and took a long pull on his beer.

“Do a lot of players drink here?” asked Oliver.

Finishing a sip, Georgie nodded. “The owner played professionally. He knows everyone—current players and from way back.” The straw in her glass whirled around the rim as she returned her drink to the table and picked up her chicken wing.

Oliver glanced tentatively toward the bar, but the man he’d spotted earlier was no longer there.

Licking hot sauce from her fingers, Georgie pointed to the cluster of well-dressed men Oliver had passed earlier. “See those guys near the framed Team Canada jersey? All play for Chicago, all grew up locally. Visiting teams often drop in post-game to meet friends and family.”