MAX
“… so anyway, I told the kids that if they really wanted to find the best books on mythology, they needed to look at the smaller presses, you know? The ones hidden on the back shelves. Everyone always wants the big, glossy editions, but the real gems are hiding.”
Zoe smiled at me across the table, talking with her hands. The little silver ring on her thumb kept catching the light.
I found myself smiling back. This was… good. She was smart, she was easy to talk to, and she didn’t once use the word “content” or show me a slideshow of pets.
“You’re a librarian,” I said, lifting my beer. “Of course, you’d know the secret treasure maps.”
She laughed. “Exactly! That’s half the fun: pointing someone in the right direction, knowing they’ll come back with wide eyes because they’ve discovered something they never would’ve found on their own.”
Her laugh was warm. And she listened, actually listened, when I talked about hockey. I told her about how playing defence is more about patience than smashing people into the boards, about timing, angles, and anticipation.
No interruptions, no shrieks of oh my God, no requests to tilt my drink for Instagram. Just a conversation.
I leaned back in my chair, relieved. “Finally,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?” Zoe asked.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, smiling. “I just meant that it’s nice to talk like this.”
She tilted her head, both shy and a little pleased. “It is, isn’t it?”
The waiter appeared then, the same one who’d watched me suffer through Melissa’s cats and Jill’s Instagram empire. His expression flicked to me and back again in a heartbeat. I swear I saw the tiniest hint of surprise.
He poured Zoe another glass of wine and leaned in just enough for me to catch it: “Better so far?”
I nodded very slightly.
“Dinner’s on the way,” he said, in a neutral tone, and vanished again.
* * *
Dinner arrived and for the first time in weeks I wasn’t bracing myself.
Zoe told me about the bizarre requests she got at the library: a man who wanted to borrow a chainsaw and a student who didn’t understand why the books weren’t alphabetized by colour.
I laughed so hard that my side hurt. And in exchange, I told her about a rookie who’d laced up the wrong skates during practice and didn’t notice until he fell flat on his face.
This was what it was supposed to feel like: effortless, fun.
By the time it was time for dessert, I was ready to call Grace and thank her for once.
And then Zoe tilted her head, studying me with a kind of serious concern that set off alarm bells. “You know,” she said, putting her fork down, “your inner child seems… blocked.”
I blinked. “My what now?”
“Your inner child. Everyone has one. It’s the most real part of us, the part that needs nurturing. And yours seems to be carrying unresolved trauma.”
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth. “Uh.”
She leaned forward, looking very serious. “I can feel it in your aura. It’s very tight and very constricted. You really need to unblock it. Have you ever tried a meditation retreat?”
I put my fork down slowly. “Not lately.”
“You should. They’re amazing. You go into the forest, no phones, no distractions, just you and your breath. I did one last spring, and it completely opened my root chakra. It was life-changing.”
“Right.”
The waiter walked by and noticed my face. His eyebrows went up a little, and the corner of his mouth twitched before he smoothed it out and looked professional.
Zoe didn’t catch it. She was scrolling on her phone, pulling something up. “Look, here’s a picture of me during my retreat. You can really see how aligned my aura is. And you, Finn, I can help you align yours.”
“Can you now.”
“Yes. Your energy field is… oh, what’s the word… murky. It’s probably because hockey is so aggressive. Blocking shots, slamming into people. You’ve put up walls. And until you tear them down, your inner child will never heal.”
The waiter arrived with dessert, tiramisu again.
Zoe smiled at him brightly. “Thank you! Oh, you should totally do a retreat too. Your aura looks very… grey.”
The waiter blinked. “That’s probably just the uniform.”
Zoe laughed, missing the edge in his tone. “You’re funny! But no, really, you should try yoga. It would change your life.”
“Noted,” he said flatly, and walked away.
I stabbed my dessert like it had personally wronged me.
* * *
We finally left the restaurant and stepped into the chill of an October night.
“Well,” Zoe said cheerfully, wrapping her scarf around her neck, “this was nice. I’ll send you some links to retreats. You’ll thank me later.”
“Yeah,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets. “Great dinner. Thanks.”
We walked in opposite directions, and I got into my truck with a sigh so heavy it almost fogged up the windshield.
Brutal. Again.
I just sat there in the dark for a minute. All I could think of was Emma, with that British accent that turned ‘arrogant’ into a compliment. Emma, who I’d gone back to look for like some lovesick moron, only to find empty aisles.
I took out my phone and called Grace, who picked up on the second ring.
“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately.
“What the fuck, sis.”
She groaned. “That bad?”
“Unsolicited inner child analysis. Something about my blocked aura. I tuned out after she suggested fasting in the woods.”
“Oh, Max. I’m sorry. I honestly thought Zoe would be different. She’s nice at work – quiet, bookish. I guess I didn’t know her well enough.”
“She’s… something,” I muttered.
Grace was silent for a moment, then gently said, “You were thinking about her again, weren’t you?”
“Who?”
“The bookstore girl.”
I closed my eyes. “Yeah. I can’t get her out of my head, Grace. That one conversation – we just clicked. I haven’t had that with anyone since. Not even close.”
Grace sighed. “I believe you. And maybe you’ll see her again. Toronto’s a big city, but not that big.”
“Feels like it.”
“Well,” she said briskly, “since I have you on the phone, I have a favour to ask.”
I groaned. “That tone never means anything good.”
She chuckled. “The Literature Foundation is hosting its annual charity gala in a couple of weeks. Aidan can’t come because he has to work. You’ll probably hear him yell ‘Sorry!’.”
As if on cue, Aidan’s voice called out, “Sorry!”
Grace continued. “I need a date. It’s for a good cause, the food is amazing, and you’ll look devastating in a tux. Please, Max.”
“A black-tie gala,” I said flatly.
“Yes.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “Fine. Sure. Just don’t seat me next to any aura cleansers.”
She laughed. “Deal.”
We hung up, and I sat in my truck for a moment longer, staring at the city lights.
Three dates down, zero wins. And somewhere out there, there was a green-eyed woman who’d made everything else feel like a poor imitation.
I wasn’t ready to give up yet.