David looks up articles on the etiquette for house guests. He packs a final time with them in mind. He can’t bring a bottle of wine on the plane, but maybe Jake will be okay with them stopping for one on the way. He’d know best which kind of wine they would like. If they even like wine. If they don’t like wine, he’s not sure what an acceptable substitute would be. Maybe he shouldn’t buy any at all; they’re still underage in the US.

David wishes there was someone he could ask about this, but Jake would tell him not to worry about it, that anything would be fine, the opposite of helpful, and there’s no one else, really. He’s certainly not going to bother Dave with those sorts of questions.

David sets his alarm early on Saturday, but he’s awake before it goes off, hours before he has to leave for the airport, let alone be there. He tries to keep busy, but mostly he’s just working himself up, wondering what will happen if they hate him. They’re important to Jake, so if they hate him, he’s not sure what Jake would do.

He tries to read on the plane, fails, spends most of the flight looking out the window, trying to avoid the elbow of the man in the middle seat. It seemed foolish to book business class for such a short flight, but he’s regretting it now.

He texts Jake when he lands, and Jake texts back, at arrivals!!!

David thinks that’s ill-advised, considering he must be high-profile here. Jake’s a local boy, and this is, after all, a city that brands itself Hockey Town, USA, but he can’t stop him now.

Jake waves wildly when David walks out, like David needs any help finding him, standing head and shoulders over everyone else. He reaches out as though he’s going to hug David when David walks over, so David holds a hand out before he can. There’s no way to know who’s watching, who recognises Jake, or David, or both of them. Jake looks amused, but he takes it, giving him a firm handshake.

“You ready to go?” Jake asks. David isn’t even close to ready, but he can’t exactly say that, so he nods.

“They’re really excited to meet you,” Jake says, once they’re in his car. David doesn’t know much about cars — he has no cause to, when he doesn’t even have a licence — but it’s an expensive one, he thinks, with a soft leather seat he sinks into, not the unassuming model he was using in Toronto.

“Great,” David says weakly.

“I’m nervous too,” Jake says, glancing over at him, but it’s hard to believe that when he looks the same as always.