Page 11 of Game On

More accurately, he hadn’t told anyone who mattered. Because he valued the opinions of people who mattered to him, and if they thought his new business venture wasn’t worth it or worse, doomed to fail...

It would crush him.

But Jamie didn’t matter. Harsh, yes, but they barely knew each other. If Jamie thought his idea was stupid, Dorian didn’t particularly care.

“You know those subscription boxes?”

“Sure.” Jamie put the whale back and selected a cheese board etched with waves along the bottom. “I once had a three-month subscription to a tie box when I first joined the Cobras.”

Dorian raised both eyebrows. “Ties?”

Letting out a quiet laugh, Jamie shook his head. “A birthday gift from my brother. He thought my ties were a little too outlandish for the AHL. As if frolicking bumblebees are the weirdest thing hockey has ever seen.”

Frolicking bumblebees? Dorian sat straighter. Why didn’t he have a tie with frolicking bumblebees?

“So what do subscription boxes have to do with anything?” Jamie asked.

“I’m launching a new one soon, and it’ll feature products from BC-based artists.”

Jamie’s eyes lit with interest. He slid from the arm of the couch and onto the cushion. “That’s what all of this stuff is?”

“Yeah. I’ve been speaking with makers at local craft markets in the province and on Granville Island since last summer, getting a feel for their products and business practices, sussing out if they’d be interested in being in my box. This—” Dorian jerked his chin at the table. “—is a combination of samples I’ve received and products I’ve purchased to test out. That one’s on the no pile.”

Jamie twisted off the lid of the candle he’d picked up and brought it up to his nose. “What’s wrong with it? Smells good. What is that? Apple cinnamon?”

“Yeah, but when you burn it, it just smells like wax. Totally defeats the purpose of a scented candle.”

“That’s a letdown.” Jamie picked up a small-batch dark-roast-scented handmade soap and sniffed it. “Is your box monthly?”

“Quarterly to coincide with the seasons. Not a fan of the soap?”

Jamie sniffed it again, brow scrunching. “I don’t think I’d want to smell like coffee all day. And there are some people—like my sister—who get a headache just smelling coffee.”

“You have a sister? Me too.”

“I have three.”

“God, you poor thing.”

Jamie laughed, the sound dislodging some of those shadows in his eyes. “Nah, they’re great. I also have four brothers. They’re great too. Except for Andrew. He thinks he’s the smartest just because he’s the oldest.”

It was said with so much affection that Dorian didn’t doubt for a second that Andrew was also great.

Whatever great meant when it came to siblings.

Jamie paused as he reached for another sample. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Sure. I’ll go ahead and take track down Andrew Jamieson to tattle on Jamie off my to-do list.”

Jamie saluted him with a gourmet chocolate bar. “Appreciate it.”

Dorian settled back in his chair and kicked out his legs. “So where do you fall in the line of eight kids?”

“Youngest.”

Huh. That was another thing they had in common. At least Dorian only had two older siblings. He couldn’t begin to imagine how he would’ve turned out if his parents had raised seven overachievers ahead of him.

“You must’ve been a handful,” he said.

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