I stand and shoot one last longing look in the direction of the bar, where Dax is chatting with Larry, before gathering my purse and heading for the door.
“Gemma Wilde, what the hell are you doing here?” a voice booms behind me, and I turn to face the broad grin and open arms of Dax’s cousin Dougie. There’s no mistaking the invitation for a hug, and I fall into it, letting his white hairy arms pull me tight to his chest, where he’s all lemons and mint and comfort. I hold on for what is probably too long. But with the wound from Dax’s rejection still painful and fresh, it feels wonderful to be known.
“What are you doing here?” he asks again. “Not that I’m complaining. I guess I’ve never really seen you out in the wild. Brandon”—he turns, calling to his husband—“you remember Gemma, she owns Wilde Beauty.”
Brandon extends his hand for a very firm handshake. It provides zero clues about our relationship in this life, as I swear you could know Brandon for fifty years and he’d still greet you with stiff British formality.
“Ah yes.” He releases my hand. “The woman whose mortgage we are likely paying with the amount you spend on skincare.”
He runs his hand down Dougie’s arm with a level of affection reserved for only his husband. “We were just about to grab a pint. Would you care to join us, Gemma?”
I gesture to the pitcher left abandoned on the table. “I bought that, and you are welcome to it.”
Brandon may be formal, but one can buy his heart with free beer. For the second time, I take the same seat at our regular Tuesday night table. This time, my companions accept my friendship beer with a thank you and cheers.
“So you came here tonight to lure handsome men with beer.” Dougie winks as he takes a sip.
His statement isn’t far from the truth, although not in the way he thinks.
“I actually came to check out the curling,” I lie. “I used to play in a league, and I’ve been finding myself missing it lately.” Not a lie at all.
Dougie twists around in his seat to face the bar. “Dax!” he yells. “Get your ass over here.”
Dax turns at his name, his eyes flicking from Dougie to me. He grabs his beer stein from the bar, gives an air-cheers to Lawrence, then makes his way slowly to our table.
“Dax, this is Gemma.” Dougie points his beer at me.
“We’ve met,” Dax says as he slides into the seat next to Dougie, who shoots him back a look because there’s now three of them on their side of the table to my one.
“Gemma owns that skincare store down the street from you. It’s funny. I’ve been thinking for a while that the two of you should meet. You’ve got a lot in common. Both young. Unattached. Not to mention Gemma is looking to join a curling team.” Dougie shoots me a not-so-subtle wink. “I know we’re often short a player when Sunny gets called in to work. I thought you’d maybe want Gemma’s number. Give her a call sometime, eh?”
It’s very apparent what Dougie is trying to do here. The slight raise to his eyebrows. The way his arm nudges at Dax’s ribs. And even though Dougie just confirmed Dax is single, I have zero desire to make Gexon a thing. But I also can’t help but feel offended by the way Dax shifts uncomfortably in his seat, as if it’s the last thing he wants to happen as well.
I rack my brain for a new topic of conversation. Something unabashedly Gemma-ish I can say that will immediately click with Dax. Identify me as one of his people.
Then she appears.
Like an apparition at the end of the table. Smelling of cocoa butter and confidence.
“What’s up, team? Why are you all sitting in a row like weirdos?” Her attention turns to me. “Oh hey. We haven’t met. I’m Sunny.”
She slides onto the seat beside me and extends a graceful hand. Her skin is smooth and soft. Her smile is wide and genuine and so naturally beautiful that I freeze for a half second in awe. Until she turns it to Dax, and he smiles right back, and my insides curdle.
Dax has these intense green eyes. They’re this beautiful emerald shade that I was sure was fake until one night, when we were very drunk, he let me poke his eyeball to prove he wasn’t wearing contacts. So I’ve confirmed they’re genuine. And mesmerizing, especially when he gives his undivided attention. It’s like the whole world melts away, and you feel like you’re the most interesting person he’s ever come across. Those eyes have talked me into road trips, drinking kombucha, and asking my boss for a raise I deserved. They’ve talked me out of buying Crocs, getting bangs, and many moments of self-doubt. Dax’s undivided attention is a powerful drug.
He’s giving it to Sunny right now.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I extend my arm for a shake, selfishly drawing her attention from Dax’s magic eyes to me as I repeat the whole I am Gemma, and I’m here to curl spiel.
“Gemma should give her number to Sunny,” Dax says more to Dougie than to me. “She’s the one who is always looking for a sub.”
I’m sure there’s a practical, logistic reason for Dax’s rationale. Still, it feels like he’s reached into my chest, pulled out my heart, and left it lying on the table next to my rejected friendship beer.
Sunny, however, hands me her phone. “Gemma, that would be amazing. I always feel like such an ass when I have to cancel and don’t have anyone to replace me.”
“Well, I’m more than happy to replace you.” I smile sweetly as I reluctantly plug in my digits.
“Sunny’s a two-time Canadian junior curling champion.” Dougie brags on her behalf. “Do you think you can compete?”
He winks at me. It’s supposed to be a joke. And yet that little quip needles its way straight to my heart, hitting me where I’m most vulnerable. Can I compete?
“I’m more of a warm body on the ice who knows slightly more than the fundamentals,” I admit. “But I have a good sweeping arm and am easily cajoled into buying the first round.”
“Hear, hear.” Dougie raises his glass of beer and cheers his husband. As he sets his glass down, I catch Dax’s eye for the briefest moment, noting the slight curl to his lips. Progress?
“You toss a few samples my way before we play, and I’m willing to overlook any shortcomings on the ice, my friend.” This time Dougie’s cheers is aimed at me. I clink his glass, feeling Sunny’s eyes on me again.
“Samples? Are you a chef, Gemma?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I own a store. We focus on clean skin and beauty products. It’s just down the street from Dax’s.”
There’s a swell of pride in my chest. This is something Dax and I have in common that he likely doesn’t share with Sunny.
“Do you own Wilde Beauty?” Sunny’s eyes grow wide as I nod. “I have been dying to go in there. Work just keeps me so busy. I can never find the time. That place looks so beautiful.”
Her tone feels 100 percent genuine. No sarcasm. No envy. None of the ugly green feelings that are currently bubbling in the pit of my stomach.
“And what do you do, Sunny?” I ask because it’s the polite thing to say next.