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“It’s true! Ask Kaitlin about the last guy she dated, the one she met ages ago at her cousin’s wedding,” said Michael. “Dude just lay there like a beached whale. Expected her to do all the work.”

Georgie sat back. “Just because we didn’t see Oliver dance, doesn’t mean he can’t, and that has no bearing on whether he’s…you know, sexually competent.”

Michael shrugged. “Time will tell, right?”

She scowled.

“And let’s not forget,” he continued, “our favourite song and personal anthem circa 1983.”

“I can’t believe you’re bringing that up.” Barely in their twenties that year, the pair temporarily adopted the lyrics of “The Safety Dance” by Men Without Hats as an inside joke/test for making new friends. If the potential pal didn’t share their passion for dancing and clubbing, a friendship—or anything else for that matter—was off the table.

Georgie shook her head. “So, you’re saying you can’t be friends with Oliver because he won’t dance?”

Michael howled with laughter. “GIGI! I’M JOKING! Jeez, you must like him if you can’t take a silly joke.” He shifted closer. “You want my honest opinion?”

“Please.”

“I think he’s great. Truly. And I’m so relieved he’s not an ad agency dickhead like old fuck-face.”

That’s what Eden said. Georgie toyed with her straw and paused for a beat as Michael stole the discarded black olives from her plate. “But what if I make a mess of things like I did last time?”

“You didn’t.”

“Still feels like I did.”

“Gi, you can’t be held accountable for someone else’s feelings.” Michael added the olives to a sour cream-drenched nacho. “You didn’t lead Kyle on.”

“But I didn’t put an end to it either…”

Michael’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, you did. Over crepes at Le Papillon. You said no.”

Recalling that disastrous Valentine’s dinner, Georgie churned the straw through her shake. “I should’ve broken up with him before that. Ughh”—dropping her chin, she closed her eyes—“the St. Valentine’s Day massacre.”

“That’s on him and only him. Ass-Face shouldn’t have proposed that day. Talk about a cliché!” Michael unsuccessfully stifled a burp, and Georgie’s lashes fluttered into an eye-opening blink. “There was always a risk you’d say no. The fucker gambled and lost. Too bad, so sad. End of story.”

“But it’s not, though. His lies live on. I still run into former friends who think I’m a hypochondriac with daddy issues.”

“Fuck that guy!” Nostrils flaring, Michael’s gaze grew cold. “Anyone who would share trash like that clearly doesn’t know you. He certainly never loved you. He just wanted to own you. Fuck him.”

Michael’s words soothed, but the scars from her ex’s insults ran deep. Georgie’s migraine disease was no joke and neither was her relationship with her late father, but Kyle knew how to use both to get under her skin. She sighed and released the straw. “I know. You’re right. It’s just…”

“You did the best you could at the time. Now you gotta let it go. It’s ancient history.” Michael paused, waiting for her to look up and meet his gaze. “And as for fucking things up with Oliver, you won’t. Know how I know? Because I know you. I know how much you like him and I have some inkling of how much he likes you. Honestly, how could he not?”

I hit the best friend jackpot with you. Georgie smiled. She couldn’t have loved her best friend more.

“And try to relax about it, will ya? Falling for someone is supposed to be fun!” Michael added a blob of salsa to his already top-heavy nacho and finessed the entire stack safely between his lips without spilling a single olive.

Georgie smiled slowly, marvelling at his prowess. “You sure you’re not part raccoon?”

He chewed and chewed, then mumbled, “Toronto-born and bred”—he shrugged—“you never know.”

“You should dress up as one next Halloween. Match the caped sidekick on your subway ads.”

“God, why didn’t I think of that? You always come up with the best costumes.” Michael chased his swallow with a quick sip of pop. “Hey, did you get your pictures back? Francesca has a costume party next month and wants to copy your Catwoman getup.”

“I’ll bring them next game.” Georgie pressed her lips. “So last night Oliver and I were out shopping for presentation props and…we kissed.”

Michael sat up. “Oo-oh! Game on!”