“And you have to let me pay for it,” Alex clarifies. “Flights and hotels and food and everything.” “Okay,” Eli repeats. “I don’t understand. I thought this would be an argument. I made notecards.” “Well, you can read them to me if you want. But Alex. This isn’t a vacation or a pair of shoes. It’s the Stanley Cup finals. It’s—you. Your health. If you say you need me there, I’m there.” Alex should probably start looking for rings. It’s been six months. Eight, if you count their original not-dates. That’s enough time, right?
