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She met him halfway with a firm, single shake, then let go. “Georgie. Nice to meet you.”
“You know, if anyone should apologize”—Oliver pointed to himself, his admission a breath-hitching kick to the gut—“I’m sorry my presentation was so abysmally bland.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Now you’re the one being kind.” Oliver stowed his CN Tower postcard into a small plastic bag from the pharmacy, already bulging with Coffee Crisp and Malted Milk chocolate bars, his new guilty pleasures. “I know it wasn’t great. I’ve been mulling it over, trying to figure out where I went wrong.”
“Maybe you should think about what went right,” said Georgie. “All the great details, the little-known facts. It’s obvious the subject is a huge passion of yours.”
“But that passion becomes a detriment if it bores the students to tears.” Since childhood, Oliver’s dream had been to help preserve history and encourage others to take more of an interest in these fascinating lost civilizations, but it was easier said than done.
Georgie nodded sympathetically. “I hear you, yeah. We’ve all been there. Teaching is tough.”
“I hope it’s not a case of what works in the UK doesn’t work here,” said Oliver. “I’d hate for this material to get lost in translation.”
As his glance tangled with Georgie’s, an epiphany popped into his head. What if she could help him out? A Canadian teacher well-versed with the Canadian approach to learning? Georgie might have the professional insight he so desperately lacked, but would she be willing to share? Or would she reject him?
That fear gnawed below Oliver’s ribs. All his life he’d played it safe, avoiding risks and confrontation, choosing instead to be a people-pleasing loner. That tactic had suited him fairly well, keeping the threat of rejection at bay.
Until now. Now he needed help.
Oliver was still within the job’s three-month probationary period, and the museum’s bigwigs could easily terminate his contract with a quick stroke of a pen, sending him back to London with his tail between his legs and his hard-earned reputation in tatters, a situation which would also thwart his primary goal—to confront Will. The need to save himself and his job were of the utmost importance, even if the mere thought of asking this Georgie woman a simple question made Oliver’s insides liquify into icy slush.
She smiled kindly. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. British and Canadian students can’t be that dissimilar.”
Oliver fought hard not to fidget, hoping his dread wasn’t noticeable as he struggled with what to say and how to say it. “Maybe not. Nevertheless, I’d love to learn from your experiences.”
Georgie blinked, her expression quizzical. “Mine? In what way?”
“Well, you know Canadian students. What they’re interested in, how to best reach them. If you’d be open to sharing your expertise sometime, helping me tailor our educational outreach to their tastes, I’d be beyond grateful. And I bet the students would be, too.”
Brows gathering, she laid a hand over her heart. “Oliver, wow, I—”
“Georgina!” The gruff voice belonged to a short guy in a white golf shirt and pleated brown trousers, his hair shaved into a brutal crewcut. “Order’s up for table eleven.” Hands full of menus, he brushed past, not waiting for her response.
“On it.” The muscle in Georgie’s jaw tensed as she met Oliver’s gaze again. She motioned over her shoulder. “That’s Knox, my boss. I should…”
“Of course.” Oliver sat up straight. “Don’t let me keep you.”
Georgie’s forehead creased. “I wish I could help.” She stole a quick glance across the restaurant. “But I really can’t take on anything extra right now. Life is…busy.”
And I’m selfish. Oliver berated himself for putting a stranger on the spot. Talk about a massive overstep. His neck and ears flushed hot as he glanced down. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose.”
“You didn’t.” She broke into a smile. “Honestly, I’m flattered you asked me.”
“You were amazing with your students, so…” Oliver fussed with his shirt’s left cuff. “It’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay.” Georgie’s grin wavered. “Well, enjoy Toronto. And best of luck with everything.”
“Thanks.”
As she fled toward the kitchen, Oliver collected his receipt and glanced out the window at Carlton Street, wondering how the hell he would save himself now.
THREE
GEORGIE
Monday, October 5, 1992
