Page 78 of Altius (The Scent of Victory #2)

Forty-Eight

Morgan

I knew the guys were up to something because of Alijah’s complete and utter lack of game face.

At most, I expected they’d take turns keeping me company during Kelsey’s move, which I planned to spend continuing to search for anomalies in the football team’s PheroPass data.

Leaving the city had never crossed my mind, let alone leaving the country.

Yet there I was, standing in the international departure security line at the airport Friday night, holding my passport—provided with Kelsey’s blessing—and a ticket for the last city in the world I ever thought I’d return to.

Montreal.

We’d already checked our bags, which contained a plethora of winter gear, something I no doubt had Cal and my sister to thank for.

As the line snaked forward, Wyatt pressed himself against my back, wrapping an arm around my middle. “Did I mess up?”

“No,” I said slowly. “I’m just…processing.”

“I know we’re not the most sentimental people, but Montreal was supposed to mean something to us.

Something good.” He rested his chin on my shoulder.

“I had a mile-long list of questions to ask you on our date that night. Looked up all the different crepe places within walking distance of the hotel. Also had a few romantic spots tucked away, just in case I got lucky.”

Covering his fingers with my own, I rubbed his thumb as we shuffled forward a few steps. “I don’t recall you ever asking me out.”

“Well,” he stammered, “maybe not in so many words, but… It’s what I was hoping for.” Wyatt pressed a quick kiss against my hair. “That’s why I want a do-over. A proper first date. The first of many.”

“I’ll give you points for creativity.” After giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, I broke his hold, taking a large step forward, just in case anyone from the university was nearby. “But I might… Might not be okay.”

Wyatt nodded, then stepped right into my personal space and recaptured my hand, holding it tight. “I don’t care if we spend the weekend holed up in the hotel. It’s got room service, and I paid extra for a decent view. I can still ask you all my questions while you fiddle with your data.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Hold on.” He pulled out his phone, operating it with one hand because he refused to loosen his hold on my fingers, and opened a lengthy, typo-laden list. “Let’s see… I’ve discovered the answers to some of these already, like which of your parents you resemble most.”

“Pops, of course.”

“Nope, it’s totally your mom. Same poise, same smile.”

I shook my head. “That’s Kelsey.”

“Oh, come on. She’s a clone of your Papa.”

“Looks-wise, maybe…”

“It’s a huge bonus, if you ask me. Pretty privilege is a thing,” Wyatt said, still scrolling through his list of questions. “It’s helped me more than I’d like to admit—but it’s also the only useful thing I inherited from my mother.”

Before I could respond, a question struck his interest.

“Window or aisle seat?”

The line moved forward again, and I gave his hand a gentle tug, urging him to keep up. “Window.”

“I thought so.”

I was unprepared to take the full brunt of his delighted, boyish smile, which made his dimples pop and eyes shine. Handsome to the extreme, but it was his genuine curiosity and thoughtfulness that made him so attractive.

“Booked you the window seat on both flights.”

Holding up my ticket so that it obscured his face, pretending I was asking him to read the fine print, I leaned in and stole a fleeting kiss.

Wyatt looked at me in surprise. “What was that for?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I teased, moving a few steps ahead of him. “I forgot. No kissing until after the first date.”

***

Wyatt’s proposed itinerary was almost comically overloaded, especially for a frigid Saturday in February. I axed the proposed mountain hike and snow-tubing, suggesting we bundle up and explore the historic areas downtown instead.

We left our quaint hotel and wandered hand-in-hand through the snowy streets, drinking in the European ambiance, ducking into the occasional shop.

After buying souvenirs for the guys and my family, I suggested we try to find a housewarming gift for Kelsey.

Wyatt spotted a retro-inspired home goods boutique where we hit the jackpot: funky table linens and dishtowels, animal-themed spatulas, and a frilly, vintage-inspired apron in a fox print reminiscent of one of Kelsey’s favorite sweaters.

They were perfect. Exactly my sister’s taste, and easy to transport.

“Thought you didn’t care about kitchen stuff?” Wyatt asked, taking the bag from me as we walked out of the store.

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention. She loves stuff like this. It’s only fitting that I reward her for respecting my preferences for so many years.”

We headed downhill toward the St. Lawrence River, into the Old Port area.

I spotted an ice skating rink and gave Wyatt a playful nudge. “Was that on your list of first date activities?”

Despite his windswept, ruddy complexion, a faint green tinge surfaced. “Uh, no. Definitely not.”

“What, no ice rinks in Arizona?”

“Baby, I’ve never even been roller-skating. I’ll fall on my ass in two seconds flat.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short. You’re in amazing shape and have excellent command over your center of gravity. Besides,” I said, huddling closer to whisper in his ear, “don’t you want to surprise Ethan when he challenges you to a hockey game next Christmas?”

Determination made Wyatt seem to double in size, and we were soon booted up and taking to the ice. However, despite my best efforts to guide him, Wyatt had never seemed more like a desert transplant than when he was shuffling along in his skates, trying not to faceplant.

I rewarded him with a small mountain of poutine, which we ate in a cute bistro, overlooking the frozen river as the light began to fade.

“Are we heading back to the hotel now?” Given my night vision issues, I wasn’t thrilled by the idea of being out after dark in an unfamiliar city.

“Not yet. There’s still one last item on the date to-do list.”

He nodded toward the snowy river and a bridge leading to an island where a mammoth Ferris wheel slowly turned, illuminated by enchanting blue lights.

“Appealing to my weaknesses,” I said with a soft smile, bundling myself back up to brave the cold once more.

It didn’t matter whether it was ten feet or ten thousand, I loved to be up high, pretending I was soaring.

Huddled together for warmth, we rushed across the bridge, at the mercy of the unforgiving wind whipping off the ice. To our surprise—and relief—the gondola was heated.

Even so, we settled on the same bench, my head resting on Wyatt’s shoulder as we took to the sky.

Our first rotation passed in comfortable silence as we drank in the fairytale charm of the streets below.

“I think this is the most I’ve ever seen of a city where I’ve competed,” Wyatt said as we began our second pass. “Makes you wonder what else we missed out on.”

I nodded in agreement.

However, my gaze drifted east, toward the tall, modern building that I paradoxically recognized but could barely remember—the hospital where I was treated following my accident.

Wyatt noticed, his voice softening. “Do you remember being here…after?”

“Not really. Just that my room looked toward Mount Royal.”

“You’re in a better place, though—aren’t you? Doing the job you always wanted, about to move in with a couple of lovestruck idiots… Things are good, right?”

“Yes. Better than I ever thought they’d be.” Looking down at the frozen expanse of ice beneath us, I couldn’t help but sigh. “And yet, I can’t help being greedy. Maybe it’s my omega nature coming back to the forefront, but I really thought I had a shot at the Garroway Forest job.”

As we neared the peak, Wyatt reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

“Here. It’s not much, but uh… Consider it a Valentine’s Day gift.” He coughed, then mumbled, “From me and Cal. Not Owen.”

Equally intrigued and amused by his behavior, I unfolded the paper, revealing line after line of names and contact information.

Half of them were in Wyatt’s chicken scratch and the other in Cal’s blocky script.

I recognized more than one name, as well as the institutions behind them, including the head of the national omega gymnastics association.

At the very bottom of the page, there was a single line of Owen’s spidery cursive.

Come work for me already. Redwing is where you belong.

I stared at the page, too stunned to say anything.

My lack of reaction caused Wyatt to tense up.

“I hope you don’t mind, but we put out some feelers with our contacts. Just because Northport and Garroway Forest can’t see how much you’re worth, doesn’t mean everyone’s as stupid as they are. Do you know how many of those people begged me for your phone number?”

Throwing my arms around him, I caught Wyatt by complete surprise. He jumped, causing my lips to graze his chin rather than his mouth.

“Thank you,” I said, sinking my fingers into his hair, angling his head for a proper, prolonged kiss.

“Don’t thank me,” Wyatt murmured. “You deserve an amazing job, Morgan. If this helps you, even a little bit, I’d make a thousand more calls.”

“But your job—”

“It’s nice, but I can always get another one.” Resting our foreheads together, Wyatt looked deep into my eyes and said, “I will follow you anywhere, Morgan. Anywhere . If you want to start a sports clinic at the South Pole, I’ll build it with my bare hands. Or if—”

Silencing him with a quick kiss, I shook my head. “No more ifs . I like things the way they are, where they are—in Northport, with you by my side. As for this list…”

Pressing the paper to my chest, I buried my face in Wyatt’s neck and kissed his sweat-tinged skin, allowing a trace of boxwood to spread across my tongue.

“I can’t thank you enough—but I have a few naughty ideas about where to start.”