Page 35 of Canadian Boyfriend

“I’m sorry, Miss Rory!” Olivia said.

“No worries,” I assured Olivia as Mike Martin stabilized me. “And you should call me Rory here. Save the Miss for class.” To Mike Martin, I said, “Thanks. I’ve got it now—Ah!” I did not have it. He grabbed me again. “As fun as this has been, I and what’s left of my dignity are gonna go sit by the fire.”

“I’ll take you,” he said.

“Can I try that jump Lauren did?” Olivia asked.

He hitched his head to indicate that Olivia was dismissed. She swooped off. “I think she’s a better skater than she is a dancer,” he whispered.

I laughed. “Have you tried to get her into hockey?”

“I have. Like,reallytried.” He shrugged. “She’s not interested.”

He put one arm all the way around me and held his other out in front of us so I could grab it. It reminded me of an ice-dancing stance. Except I wasn’t dancing; I was shuffling.

“I’m sorry I said you were dumb,” I said quietly once we had shuffled sufficiently far enough from the group that I wouldn’t be overheard.

“It’s OK,” he said. “You weren’t wrong.”

“Yes I was!”

“Well, I barely graduated high school.”

“Because you were playing hockey!” And more to the point, Mike Martin was smart. Witty. Bantering with him made me feel alive. He reminded me of Gretchen that way. But also kind of not. Gretchen’s smile didn’t make my insides go squishy.

We had reached the deck. “You want a boost?”

I did not want a boost, but I also did not see how I was going to heave myself onto the deck without being able to get purchase on the ice. “Dignity is overrated,” I said.

Mike Martin, even though he was standing on thin metal blades, literally picked me up, swung me around, and sat me on the deck. He hopped up next to me, and I felt like we were Laura and Almanzo, sitting on the banks of Plum Creek. If Almanzo appeared in that book. And if Plum Creek were frozen. And lined with mansions.

“I never answered your question about what a hoser is,” he said as he unlaced his skates. “A hoser is…” He stared out at the lake. Lauren was attempting to teach Olivia the jump she’d done, and Ivan was doing slow laps. “It’s hard to explain. It’s kind of the Canadian version of a redneck, but maybe without such negative connotations. You know Bob and Doug McKenzie, the fictional characters?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re probably too young.I’mtoo young, but they’re pop culture icons in Canada.” He paused. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-nine.” Here was my chance. “How old are you?” I’d been wondering if the Wikipedia article was wrong. Hehadto be the Mike I’d met at the mall. But I couldn’t square the timeline.

“Thirty-five this spring.”

See? It still didn’t make sense.

“Anyway, Bob and Doug McKenzie, who you’re too young to remember, were hosers. A hoser is a sort of cheerful loser. Wears a toque like this all the time.” He pointed to his winter hat—I could only assumetoquewas Canadian forhat—which hedidwear a lot, even inside. “A hoser is a beer-drinking, hockey-playing, going-nowhere, not-that-smart, small-timedude.”

Mike Martin was about as far from small time as it was possible to get. “Look at your life.” I gestured vaguely around. “You didn’t go nowhere.”

“Yeah, but I would have, if I hadn’t made it in hockey.”

“But youdidmake it in hockey. You—”

“We’re arguing again.” He hopped to his feet. “I’m going to go sit by the fire. You want to come?”

I did want to come, but I ignored his outstretched hand this time and got up on my own.

He pointed at the house. In the sunroom, Earl 9 stood in silhouette, watching over us.

“Does he want to come out?”

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