MAX
The Art Gallery of Ontario is so big that it’s hard to take it all in at once: high ceilings, polished floors and a smell of clean air mixed with a hint of wood.
Emma was walking in front of me, her scarf neatly wrapped around her neck and her eyes lighting up every time she looked at one of the paintings.
She said she’d been here before, but today she wanted to show me the Canadian collection.
I just followed her, pretending to know what I was looking at. Some of the paintings were amazing, others… not so much. We stopped in front of a canvas that was filled with splashes of colour and rough shapes. I squinted and couldn’t resist shaking my head.
“To be honest? This looks like something my nephew Lucas would’ve made. And he’s five. He gives me one of these every time he finds crayons.”
Emma burst out laughing. It was the kind of laugh that comes from deep within and can’t be faked.
She pulled on my sleeve, just lightly, like she couldn’t help herself.
The gesture hit me harder than I expected.
It felt casual, but somehow intimate. And I found myself smiling back at her, no longer focused on the painting.
We moved slowly through the rooms, stopping occasionally to let the silence fill the space. Then she stopped in front of a big painting and I almost bumped into her.
It was a Lawren S. Harris painting called Above Lake Superior. Cool blues and greys of sky and water, the land shaped into clean, almost otherworldly forms.
“Wow,” Emma whispered. “Look at how he painted the light.”
I looked at the painting for a second, but then my eyes moved to her. The way she tilted her head and softened her gaze made it seem like she was part of the scene. She was completely absorbed.
“Yeah, it’s… something.”
Noticing my pause, she glanced back at me. I cleared my throat and nodded toward the bench in the middle of the room. “Let’s sit here for a bit.”
We sat side by side. People walked by us, their footsteps muffled and their voices low, but we’d carved out a space just for the two of us.
Once again, I was surprised that I was so at ease with her.
I didn’t need to fill the silence with a joke or a story.
Just sitting there with her, looking at the painting, was enough.
More than enough. For a guy who is used to the constant noise of the rink, this quiet was new.
It felt different. And I didn’t want it to end.
* * *
The café was warm and inviting, with amber light and the low hum of voices. Emma ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream and then she gave me that look. “You should try it. Trust me.”
“I’m more of a coffee guy,” I protested, looking over the menu.
She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, challenging me. “Live a little, Max.”
I sighed, but decided to give in. “Fine. Hot chocolate.”
When the mugs arrived, I took a sip. The warmth spread through me right away and it was richer than I had expected. “Okay,” I admitted, “this is really good.”
Emma leaned back with a smug smile. “See? You should listen to me more often.”
“Dangerous advice… You know,” I smirked, “if you keep being right, I’m going to start thinking you’re trying to impress me.”
Before she could fire back, my phone buzzed on the table. It was Grace.
Where are you?
I typed back:
AGO café. With Emma.
No way, I’m in the area. Want to meet up?
I looked up at Emma. “Grace is in the neighbourhood.”
Her face brightened. “Tell her to stop by. The more the merrier.”
A few minutes later Grace arrived, her coat draped over one arm and her cheeks flushed from the wind. But she wasn’t alone. Bridget was right behind her, staring at us.
“Max,” Grace said, taking a seat next to me. “Emma, this is Bridget. You remember her?”
Emma nodded politely. “From the game, right?”
“That’s right,” Bridget said, her smile tight. “You were… cheering very loudly.” The words hung in the air like a barb, even though her tone was light.
Bridget sat across from me, right next to Emma and leaned her elbows on the table, turning her body toward me. “So, Finn,” she said in a sweet voice, “are you scaring the other team’s forwards?”
I laughed awkwardly. “Trying to at least.”
“Well, you looked good out there during the last game.” Her eyes lingered on me. “Very… confident.”
Emma looked at her mug, trying to hide a small smile. It was one of Bridget’s talents to make me feel uncomfortable, which was exactly what I didn’t want to feel with Emma present.
Fortunately, Grace decided to change the subject. “Bridget, you’d love the Canadian wing. The Group of Seven stuff is amazing.”
Bridget waved it off. “Oh, I’ve seen them. They’re fine. But I prefer things that are more straightforward, like hockey. Don’t you think that’s easier to appreciate? You don’t have to pretend to understand it.”
Emma chuckled softly. “Maybe. But I like things that take a little time to understand.”
Bridget looked straight at me again. “Some people like easy.”
I didn’t take the bait and looked at Emma, who just sipped her hot chocolate like Bridget’s words were background noise. Did she think that too? That I preferred easy and uncomplicated?
My worries were interrupted by Emma saying, “I should head out; I want to do some writing tonight.”
I moved to stand up too, but she gently put a hand on my shoulder. “Stay. Finish your drink. I’ll text you. Grace, see you around.” She smiled and left, and I couldn’t help but watch her until she was gone.
Bridget noticed. “Well, somebody’s using you for her next great novel. She seems… intense, Finn. You sure you want to end up as research material?”
My jaw tightened, ready to snap back, but she was already pushing back her chair. “Anyway, I should get going as well. Grace, Finn, it was… fun.” Her tone made it sound like the opposite.
Grace sighed and smoothed the edge of her napkin between her fingers. “Bridget doesn’t like not being the centre of attention,” she said quietly. “Especially when someone else is.”
I stayed silent.
“She sees the way you look at Emma,” Grace added. “That bothers her.”
Before I could respond, Grace hesitated, then said, “She did tell Emma about your reputation.”
My stomach dropped. “She what?”
Grace nodded. “Don’t freak out. Emma’s still here, she’s still hanging out with you. If she cared about all that, she wouldn’t be spending so much time with you, would she?”
I leaned back, still seething, trying to let Grace’s words sink in.
Maybe she was right. Emma hadn’t mentioned hockey once.
She’d just… been with me. But as I let out a breath, the knot in my stomach didn’t go away.
It was one thing to be a part of Emma’s day – something else to wonder if I was just a project she was dropping once she got what she needed.