“I’ll work on scheduling interviews.” Daniela glances at Finn and me. “I trust you’ll keep your schedules open?”
“Happy to.” Finn’s voice is calm and steady and reassuring. He’s so much better at this than I am. The air feels less thick, less tense with his words. Calm moves over the room.
“We have a plan,” Tanaka says.
“My mother is planning a wedding celebration for our families this weekend,” Finn says. “Should we send you some snapshots?”
“I think you’ll need a professional photographer to memorialize your love effectively,” Tanaka says.
“And some journalists to write everything up.” Daniela beams.
The room is happy, but anxiety crawls through my body, and when I look at Finn’s withdrawn face, slick with sweat, even though we haven’t skated yet, I know he feels the same.
We’re fucked.
And it will all come out this weekend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Finn
I try not to let lose a slew of swears as Noah and I walk back to the locker room. Getting reprimanded for swearing is so not what I want to happen now, and I’m not sure who is paying attention to us.
I mean, a normal couple would be completely happy that his big day is going to be recorded by professionals, right?
And it’s not like it’s my actual big day: it’s a party to celebrate our love.
No big deal at all.
But it feels tremendous.
“I don’t know if my parents can come.” Noah’s green eyes dart toward me, before he concentrates on the photos on the wall.
“Oh.” My forehead wrinkles, and I imagine Noah’s parents not being there. Yeah, after our talk with the owner and team management, that wouldn’t be a great look.
Noah’s steps are rigid, and I want to pull him toward me.
“Because it’s expensive?” I ask.
I know Noah and I come from different financial backgrounds. Most people come from a different financial background than me, though Noah’s seems particularly different.
“How many hours away are they from Boston?”
“Three and a half.”
“Tell them they can stay with us.”
“I wouldn’t want them to impose...”
“They don’t need to think about having a seven-hour drive in one day. I have the bedrooms. Besides, how often do they see you? They must miss you.”
Noah’s lips do something that resembles a smile, but that only makes my heart ache.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, even though I’m not sure what the problem is.
But I know I miss Noah’s giggles and full-throated laughs, the kind he gave me on my bed this morning, the kind he’s given me at other points, the kind I haven’t heard him give anyone else.
I don’t like other versions of Noah, where he’s flashing polite, strained smiles that he thinks I want, when all I want is to hear him laugh and see him relax.
