Page 36 of Faking It with my Hockey Crush

My heart is in my throat as I wait for Emma’s reply. It’s a question she hasn’t been asked before, so I have no idea what she’s going to say.

“Oh, no,” Emma says, her face as straight as a board. “I can’t stand him.” She jerks her head at me. “I’m only with him for his money.”

I nearly choke in panic, but then, the whole audience bursts into laughter, swiftly joined by Sheila, who clearly thinks her answer is hilarious.

Emma still isn’t smiling, and nodding to the audience, she says, “Right, ladies?”

A loud cheer goes up from the females in the audience, and as I look out at the crowd, I see a mix of surprise and delight as they take in Emma’s cheeky response.

Sheila leans forward. “Oh, I love it—a relationship built on mutual annoyance and a splash of materialism!” she quips. “And you, Ryan, what did you think when you first saw Emma?”

Fighting my astonishment, I manage a lopsided grin. “Honestly, Sheila? I thought she might be trouble,” I say, listening to the crowd lightly chuckle. “As it turns out, I was right.”

The audience continues hooting and clapping, making the studio feel alive with energy. When they settle again, Sheila takes the opening to pivot to more questions, which Emma handles with no issue at all.

I get to say a few words, but clearly, the audience loves Emma, and Sheila knows it. I’ve been doing these gigs long enough to know how the game is played.

As the interview continues, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe at how Emma is managing to pull the audience in, as though she’s done this her entire life. I find myself as mesmerized with her as they are, which is only brought to my attention when Sheila mentions it.

“You’re just sitting there looking at her with adoration, Ryan. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before.”

She catches me off guard, and I stumble, trying to think of something to say.

“Oh, you’re embarrassing him, Sheila,” Emma quickly quips, saving me and not saving me in that one sentence.

“Who wouldn’t adore her, Sheila?” I say when I eventually remember how my tongue works. “I mean, look at her.”

The crowd swoons, and Emma gives me a broad smile, but I don’t miss the bloom of red rushing to her cheeks. The thing is, I didn’t say it to get even. I realize, as the words come out of my mouth, that there’s a ring of truth to them.

Sheila wraps the interview up, wishing us all the best and making us promise that we’ll keep her updated about the wedding plans.

Only in the dressing room does my heart finally settle, and running a hand through my hair, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Emma’s boldness might well be magnetic, but it was also exhausting.

Heading home later, we’re a few miles out of Maple Springs when I turn to her in the back of the Lincoln. “You want to come up to the house for a coffee?”

She nods. “Sure. My schedule’s clear, so I have some time.”

“Cool,” I reply. “You did really well today, you know.”

“So you’ve told me. Like five times.” She smirks.

“And now, I’m telling you again.” I grin back.

“It was harder than it looked,” she says, turning and gazing out of the window as we enter the town.

“Well, you made it look easy, and the crowd loved you.”

It didn’t occur to me that Emma had never been inside the mansion, but I’m quickly reminded of that when she stands in the entrance hall with her mouth gaping open.

“Wow,” she breathes.

I go to make a quip, but then I change my mind. Living here my whole life, I take the beauty of the mansion for granted. Iknow I do. But as I look at her now, her eyes wide with wonder, her mouth slightly agape, I allow myself to see it through new eyes. Eyes of appreciation.

Given her awestruck face, I end up giving her a tour, steering clear of Thomas’s wing and hoping he doesn’t venture out for any reason. I show her portraits, relay history, and describe the paintings hanging on the wall.

“The Siege of Asola, by Tintoretto,” I say, pointing to a painting we pass.

“Italian,” she says. “Italy looks so beautiful.”

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