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A terse snort pushed through the line. “Ollie love, self-preservation is overrated. C’mon, mate! Live a little! You like her. She’s nice, knows the city inside and out—you could be having an amazing time together!”
Without a doubt. Oliver nodded, fondly recalling how good he’d felt by Georgie’s side. The fan mail session. The museum. Even McNally’s. The venue didn’t matter, but the company sure did.
“Or you can sit on your lumpy sofa with a shitty microwaved meal for one and cut your losses before anything has the chance to bloom.” Sarcasm prickled Rafferty’s tone. “Makes perfect sense.”
“It does, actually,” Oliver retorted. “If—and that’s a huge if—we dated, we’d be doomed from the start because I can’t give her what she needs.”
“And that is…what? Companionship? Love? Sex? All the usual must-haves you’re more than capable of providing.”
Oliver hesitated, the words uncomfortable on his tongue. “Not if I’m back in England next summer.”
Rafferty gasped. “Maaate! Your one-year contract? She doesn’t know?”
He winced. “It hasn’t come up.”
“Ollie.”
“She thinks I’m here long-term. If we start something, it thrives, and then I leave—I’ll be doing exactly what Will did to my mum.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be exactly the same,” muttered Rafferty.
Oliver shook his head mournfully. “I wouldn’t want to hurt her.”
A loud exhale travelled through the phone line. “Look, I know it’s not ideal, but there’s always long distance. Loads of people do it.”
“Including one of Georgie’s friends,” said Oliver. “The guy’s based in the UK.”
“Well, there you go. She’s familiar with it at least.”
“And staunchly against it. Her friend’s relationship fell apart and Georgie made her feelings about their situation very clear.” Anguish knotted around Oliver’s heart as he glared at the heavens—or rather, the cigarette-smoke-stained ceiling of the booth. “And even if she were open to it, I don’t think I could do it. I’d want to see her every day, not just when there’s a fucking seat sale.”
“Well, well, well!” Rafferty’s tone brightened. “This IS new. You must really like this ice hockey-mad woman. The old Ollie would be more than satisfied with an occasional one-night stand.”
Dissolving into a slouch, Oliver rested against the payphone. “I’ve never met anyone like her.”
“Mmhmm. Methinks my boy is smitten.”
“It would be so much easier if I wasn’t.” He closed his eyes as Rafferty surrendered to a long, nasally yawn. “I can’t believe how I’m feeling. I don’t even recognize myself these days.”
“Which isn’t a bad thing. You should lean into it,” said Rafferty. “And if you don’t think you two have a future, then just have fun right now. For all you know, that’s all Georgie wants anyway. She did turn down a marriage proposal not too long ago, right?”
“Yeah. But it’s going to feel awkward when I see her. I’ve kept her waiting for weeks. Any spark we might’ve had—if it even existed in the first place—has probably fizzled out.”
“And whose fault is that?” barked Rafferty. “Spoiler alert: not hers, you tit!”
“I know.” With a hard blink, Oliver exhaled heavily. “You’re not telling me anything new.”
“Then listen to this: I know dating Georgie for only a few months might sound like a consolation prize, but isn’t a little happiness better than none at all?”
Oliver glanced beyond the phone booth and spotted Georgie in her long coat and knee-high boots rushing past. An ache twisted in his chest. “She’s here! Gotta go, mate.”
“Ollie, you fuckwit, TELL HER—!”
Hanging up, he pushed through the phone booth’s two flapping plexiglass doors and jogged to catch up. “Georgie!”
Mere steps away from Canadian Tire’s entrance, she turned tentatively and stopped, the usual sparkle in her eyes strangely absent. “Hi.” A ghost of a grin curved her mouth, but it barely reached her cheeks.
Oliver’s heart lodged in his throat. What have I done? He hesitated, struggling with the urge to apologize, hug, and kiss her all in one fell swoop. “It’s great to see you,” he said with a conciliatory smile, his gaze subtly sweeping her long blonde hair, the ends flitting in the autumn breeze.
