Page 78 of Dr. Bad Boy

The drive is quick, if rainy, and in two hours we’re pulling up in front of a boutique hotel in downtown Montreal. The rain has stopped, and it’s cold but clear. Max hands over his keys and we head inside only long enough to check in and drop our bags in our suite.

As we walk up to Saint Catherine Street, he takes my hand, and I squeeze his fingers. This is really nice. A fantasy within a fantasy, sort of. Two normal people off to Montreal for an afternoon of…whatever we want.

“That would look nice on you,” he murmurs, pointing to a black dress in a shop window. It’s exceptionally short.

I swallow hard against my natural instincts and nod. “Should I try it on?”

His eyes light up.

We spend nearly two hours going in and out of shops. Max admits that he’d never heard of Agent Provocateur before he met me, or any of the shoe designers either, but now he had a daily email from Nordstrom with suggestions based on his recent purchases.

That sent me into a fit of giggles that just got worse when he pulled out his phone and showed me the messages.

“I’m just waiting for my credit card company to call me and ask if my card has been stolen,” he grumbles without any heat.

“Because previously all your purchases were what, hockey gear and floggers?” I ask.

“Something like that.”

Our luck with the weather runs out as we head down Rue Drummond heading back to the hotel. The skies open up and Max pulls me in the front door of a gastropub.

“How about a beer?” he says with a laugh. “Is this okay?”

I glance past him to look around the place. A hockey game is on every screen. Since we just spent the last two hours doing what I love, I can return the favour for sure. “It’s perfect.”

We get in the queue at the hostess stand and Max wraps his arm around my hip, sliding under my jacket. I lean my head against his chest and look around. The hockey game on the screens above the bar is two American teams, the Devils versus the Kings, but from the sounds of it, everyone is pre-drinking for the next game. We heard about that on the drive down, listening to the radio. The Toronto Maple Leafs are in town to face off against the Montreal Canadiens, and I have flashbacks to my university days, watching the same game from the other side in the other city.

Definitely not going to advertise that I’m from T.O. this afternoon.

We’re seated in a booth in the corner that has a good view of a screen and a waitress swings by with a beer menu and a food menu. The beer one is longer, and we decide to order flights of beer, four smaller glasses of different varieties, because the choice is too hard. We add an order for two charcuterie boards—and when they arrive we realize we could have done with just one. Both platters overflow with bread and meat and cheese, olives and pickles and butter and mustards.

I gain five pounds just looking at them, but it doesn’t stop me from diving in.

“Hungry girl,” Max murmurs, squeezing my leg, and when I glance over, his eyes are warm. It’s been a good afternoon. Spending time together with clothes on was a good idea and I tell him as much. “I have the odd clever thought,” he teases. “And I like Montreal.”

“I do, too. It’s one nice bonus to living in Ottawa, it’s an easy train ride. Or drive, with the right company.”

He winks. “How long have you been in Ottawa? Two years?”

“Not quite. A year and a half almost.”

“Ever miss Toronto?”

I shrug. “Not really. I go back a few times a year to visit my folks. Most of my college friends have dispersed across the country, anyway. And…”

He raises his eyebrow. “And?”

“It’s not date-worthy small talk.”

He takes my hand in his and gives me a stern look. “Who said I wanted small talk?”

“Ah.” I look down at my beer. “Well, suffice it to say, my parents were disappointed that I got divorced.”

Even without looking at him, I can feel the intensity of his reaction. When I glance back up, his brows are pulled tight and his jaw is clenched. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “That’s not right.”

I shrug. “It is what it is. They don’t dwell on it and neither do I.”

He nods. “The holidays are coming up. Will you see them?”

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