Page 32 of Julian

“Everyone has their phone. That’s not an answer.”

“It’s a very good answer,” she says. “I was in the middle of something.”

“What were you in the middle of?”

A brief pause. “A podcast.”

“About what?”

Another pause, slightly longer. “Reptile care.”

I blink in surprise. “But… why?”

Harper blows out a breath. “Dylan keeps lobbying for a snake, and I keep saying no, because… eww… snakes, but in fairness, I don’t know much about what it would take, so I’m doing due diligence research to hopefully find information about caring for a snake that gives me a good reason to continue to deny him the request, because… Ewww… snakes apparently isn’t good enough for him.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I’m impressed by your foresight, but you’re sitting alone in a cold car and there is a full suite upstairs with food, drinks and a hockey game that, by your own admission, you know nothing about and perhaps should.”

“But I’m your driver,” she says. “Not your guest.”

“Tonight you’re both.”

She opens her mouth and I cut her off before she can reload. “The team is implementing your community campaign next week. You should probably understand the sport you’re about to help promote.”

That lands. I can see it in the slight shift of her expression—not quite caught, but close. “That’s a bit of a stretch,” she drawls.

“It’s entirely reasonable.”

The corner of her mouth moves. Just barely, but I catch it. “I wouldn’t know what I’m watching,” she tries.

“I’ll explain it.”

“I’d have a lot of questions.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

She looks like she’s searching for the exit from a conversation that has systematically closed off every available route.

“Harper.” I gather myself and choose my words before speaking. “I’m suggesting to you, as your employer, that it would be good for you to watch the game.” I hate that I’m using authority to get her agreement, but I’m also not above such tactics.

Finally, she lets out a slow breath of capitulation. “If I embarrass myself by asking obvious questions in front of important people, that’s entirely on you.”

“Agreed,” I say immediately.

Harper leans over to grab her phone from the floorboard and then steps out of the car, offering me a somewhat reluctant smile before she schools it back into neutrality.

The second period is minutes away and I think the game will be best observed from the first row of seats that border the balcony overlooking center ice.

When we enter, all eyes come to me because I’m always the man of the hour. Harper gets curious glances, but it’s hard to tell who she is. Her black trousers and jacket are tailored well enough that she’d easily be mistaken for someone in my business orbit. I manage to put off more handshakes or attempts at people trying to stop me to schmooze by blaming my desire to watch the imminent start of the second period. Everyone accepts it because no one would dare insist otherwise.

I notice a slight adjustment in Harper’s posture as we walk through the suite—upright and proud, but also stiff with tension. I know she’s out of her element. I grab two sparkling waters from a sterling silver ice chest with the Vipers’ logo embossed on it and lead her to the first row of balcony seats. There’s no one else sitting there and I follow her all the way to the far end of the row that abuts a slanted wall separating us from the next suite over. I hand her the drink and she murmurs a thank-you.

She looks out at the rink below and I watch her take it in. The freshly resurfaced ice gleaming under arena lights, the players filtering out for warm-ups and the crowd settling back into their seats.

“It looks bigger on the inside than it does the outside,” she observes, turning her head my way.

A memory hits me, my first visit when I was a little boy. “It always is. The first time.”

Harper turns slightly toward me. “You remember your first time?”