Forever Laced (Eagles Hockey #5)

Chapter 1

One

Finn

“Hi,” I hear before I can ring the doorbell.

I glance down at the tiny human with the adorable voice, mismatched clothes, and ponytail that’s just barely hanging on. “Hi,” I say and crouch down. “Are you Chloe?”

A nod, the ponytail holder slipping free and falling silently to the porch. “Who’re you?”

“Finn,” I say, extending my hand so she can place her littler one in mine. “Nice to meet you.”

We shake then she frowns. “I know a Finn. But he’s a boy.”

Ah.

The bane of my existence—my name.

“I’m really Finley, but I go by Finn,” I say.

“Why?”

“I like it better.”

She considers that. Then shrugs. “Okay.” A beat. “Why’re you ringing the doorbell?”

My lips twitch. “Well, I haven’t actually gotten to ring the bell yet, but I’m here to hang out for a bit.”

“Why?”

“Because your dad needs someone to help watch you when he travels.”

Her dad, Rhodes Calder, is a professional hockey player for the Oakland Eagles…and a widower who’s in over his head.

“My dad travels a lot,” she says quietly. Sadly.

I pick up the ponytail holder. “Yeah?”

A nod. Then she tucks that away with typical four-year-old aplomb. “What’s in your bag?”

“Some stuff I like to do in my free time. I brought it to show you and see if you like it too.”

“Oh.”

I wait for another question but it doesn’t come.

Instead, she falls silent for long enough that I hitch my thumb toward the door. “Should we go inside and I can meet your dad?”

“Okay.”

I stand, and when she doesn’t move, I reach out my hand to press the doorbell.

Only before my fingers so much as graze the button, the door whips open—

“Chloe!” A gorgeous man exclaims, rushing onto the porch without seeming to realize I’m standing there.

Which means that I have to jump back, lest I get run over.

He’s tall. He’s broad. He looks strong as fuck.

And he skids to a stop so quickly that I know, without a doubt, this man is a power on the ice.

His dark eyes fix on mine, and my heart thuds hard against my ribs.

“Dad!”

A jerk, his gaze sliding to Chloe.

“This is Finn,” she says, bouncing from foot to foot, her hair a total disaster. “She’s got something in her bag for me.”

Eyes drifting back to me.

Well, that sounds…awkward.

Or maybe suspicious.

Still, I stick my hand out, smile. “Hi. Like Chloe said, I’m Finn—”

“It’s short for Finley,” Chloe interjects and my smile widens.

His face softens as he shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Finn Finley.” A twitch of his lips. “Sorry about nearly running you over. Someone”—a glance at Chloe—“isn’t supposed to go out front without a grownup, right?”

Chloe’s guilty gaze drops to her feet. “Right.”

“Should we go inside?” he says quietly. “Maybe you can show Finn where we keep the good snacks.”

Chloe’s head pops up, eyes full of excitement instead of remorse now. “Snacks!” she shouts and takes off by us, sprinting into the house as fast as her little legs can take her.

I giggle and when I look back, he’s watching me again.

Nerves nip at my toes and my pulse speeds through my veins.

Because it’s a very parental look he’s tossing my direction, full of judgment and consideration and…judgment.

Am I trustworthy? Will I get along with his daughter? Am I responsible enough to watch her when he’s out of town?

Will I be…good enough?

Certainly, I’m not for my own parents.

But for the one single father currently standing in front of me?

I guess that’s yet to be determined.

He steps back and gestures for me to come in.

I follow him through the brightly lit hallway that opens quickly up into a family room and kitchen. Chloe has the refrigerator door open and is rustling inside, her little face screwed up again as she strains for something just out of reach.

“Here,” I say, quickly crossing the space and grabbing the carton of milk before it can tumble to the ground. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yup,” she tells me, already turning her focus to one of the drawers, extracting an apple.

“Yum,” I say as she carries it over to a kid-sized step stool, climbs up, and places it on a cutting board. Then she reaches for a knife.

Oh, God.

Blood is going to be drawn within the first two minutes of my first day.

Well, that’s if I even get the job.

I hurry over, intent on snagging the knife…at least until I realize she knows what she’s doing.

And that the knife is plastic—albeit sharp enough to cut an apple.

“My dad taught me, see?” She cuts one end and lays it flat. Then proceeds to cut around the core in careful, even strokes.

“Wow,” I say. “You’re really good at that.”

“I know.”

I smile, glance over my shoulder.

Rhodes is leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed.

“Are you ah-al-lergic to peanut butter?”

Blinking, I turn back to her. “No, I don’t have any allergies.”

“Me neither.” She grabs the jar of peanut butter, grunts as she unscrews the lid. “But Jake can’t eat oranges.”

“Is Jake your friend?”

A nod. “Can you get me a spoon?”

“Sure.” I turn away, looking for the most likely drawer that would house a spoon.

“Here,” Rhodes murmurs, pulling one open.

“Thanks.” I snag a spoon, close the drawer, and bring it back over to her, and two minutes later, she has a cutting board of apple slices smeared with peanut butter and topped with plenty of chocolate chips. “That looks yummy.”

“It is.” A pause. “Want one?”

I accept the slice she holds up, take a bite. “Yum.” I chew and swallow. “Would you like me to pour you a glass of milk?”

“Yes, please.”

But when I go to do that, I find that Rhodes has already filled three cups.

“Thanks, Daddy!” Carefully, she carries the cutting board over to the counter and gets busy eating.

Rhodes snags a slice and pops it into his mouth, nudging a glass of milk toward her. Then one toward me.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

A nod.

We eat and drink, but Chloe chattering away means that it doesn’t get awkward. She tells me about her teacher, Ms. Mika, and more about Jake, who she likes to dig in the sandpit with. Then she shows me her room.

“Whoa,” I say as I stop on the threshold.

“I like pink!” she exclaims, spinning on the furry pink rug…which sits atop the pale pink carpet…which matches the pink comforter and the pink dresser and the glittery pink pain on the walls.

“I see that,” I say lightly.

Which makes Rhodes chuckle.

A tug at my hand has me looking down at her. “Will you show me what’s in your bag?”

I smile. “Sure, pumpkin.”

We go back down to the kitchen and I pull out my supplies.

“What is it?” she asks when I finish laying out the pieces on the table.

“It’s not what it is right now,” I say as I unfold a square. “It’s what it’s going to be.”

Her little brow furrows.

“This is the start of a blanket.”

Now the furrow deepens. “It doesn’t look like a blanket.”

“Nope,” I tell her as I reach back into my bag and pull out a stack of pink fabric.

“But I think the best blankets are the ones that are made from lots of different pieces.” I line up one square of pink then another and another.

“See if every square is a piece of something special”—I hold up a scrap of sparkly gold that will go well with the striped pink I’ve just placed—“when you put them all together, you get something even better than you planned.”

I lean back.

She’s silent, studying the pattern I’ve begun to lay out.

Then she reaches for another square. “How about this one next?”

“I think that works perfectly.”

She smiles, starts sorting through the pile, looking for the next perfect piece, and I find my gaze drifting up, sliding across the room.

To Rhodes, who’s back to propping up the wall.

Our eyes connect again and he nods approvingly…then tilts his head down the hall. “I’ll leave you two girls to it.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Chloe says distractedly, focused on choosing her next square.

I nod.

He nods back and I know I’ve got the job.

Butterflies in my stomach. My heart thudding against my ribs.

And the distinct sensation that my life is never going to be the same.