Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
KATE
Emma’s kitchen is filled with the aroma of fresh coffee as I enter. It feels warm and cozy, a bit envying the lived-in charm. The windows are slightly ajar, inviting in the cool morning breeze, while the gentle hum of the kettle completes the peaceful scene.
“You look tired,” Emma says immediately, glancing up from the counter.
“Good morning to you, too.”
She snorts and slides a mug toward me anyway. “You’re welcome.”
I hold my hands around the mug, allowing the warmth to transfer to my fingers.
Hudson stayed awake well past midnight, watching game highlights on his phone, which meant I had to stay up too to ensure he finally fell asleep.
Fourteen-year-olds think sleep isn't necessary, but parents know the truth.
Emma sits opposite me at the small kitchen table, studying my face with the kind of attention that makes me suspicious.
“What?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in question.
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thinking thing.”
“I think constantly,” I reply.
“No.” She narrows her eyes. “The quiet thinking thing.”
I take a sip of coffee to avoid answering. It’s too hot and burns the tip of my tongue, but I welcome the distraction. I’m avoiding going into why I really haven’t slept. She’ll laugh in my face if I tell her the truth.
Emma leans back in her chair, clearly settling in. “So,” she says slowly. “How did you get home?”
“Fine.” Suddenly, my cup of coffee seems far more interesting than anything else, and I run my fingertip along the rim, contemplating what’s safe and what’s not.
“Kate.” She knows me too well.
“I got the tram.”
“Did you walk alone through the dark car park after the match?”
“Yes. It wasn’t even dark! Well, not really, and there were quite a few people around. You’re worse than Huds for digging.”
She waits while I stare into my coffee. Then, because Emma has known me for fifteen years and often understands me better than I understand myself, I let out a sigh.
“Okay, so he walked me to the station.”
Her eyebrows shoot straight up. “Who did?”
“You know who.” I somehow manage to meet her gaze, and I’m shocked by the look of excitement in her eyes.
Emma slams her mug down hard enough to make the coffee slosh slightly. “The hockey player?”
“Emma.”
“The really hot one?” My friend is relentless in her quest to make me spill the beans, even though there really isn’t anything to tell.
“Stop it.” My tone is a little firmer this time, although inside I really want to talk it over with my friend. I just feel a little stupid.
“The one who looks as if he were carved from marble and then given a French accent just to make it unfair for the rest of the male population?”
I press my fingers to my temples. “Yes, Emma. That one.”
Her grin spreads slowly across her face. “Oh, my god.”
“Don’t do that. It was nothing.” I wave my hand in dismissal and take a sip of coffee, now it’s cooled slightly.
“He walked you to the station. That’s not nothing.” She’s wiggling her eyebrows at me, and I want to slap her.
“He offered. He was being polite, that’s all. He saw I was alone and insisted.”
“But you accepted.”
“Because it was respectful.”
She gives me the side-eye. “You hate accepting help.”
“That is not true. I let you help me out with Huds all the time.”
“That’s not what I mean. You once carried a broken vacuum cleaner three streets because your car was in the garage, even though you could have asked Tom for a lift.”
“That was different.”
“How is it different?”
“Tom was busy.”
Emma snorts. “Whatever, but you like him.”
The words land too easily in the quiet kitchen, and I immediately shake my head. “No, I don’t even know him. Don’t be silly.”
“Yes, you do.” I can see the excitement building within her as the cogs in her brain work overtime.
“No.”
“Kate.” Emma folds her arms and stares at me with the look she gets when she’s calling out my bullshit.
“It was just a conversation. There’s nothing more to tell you.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I’m not.” She’s doing that sing-song thing with her voice, and it’s really grating on my last nerve now.
“You absolutely are.”
I sigh and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before giving up. “We talked about hockey.”
“And?” Emma pushes me further than I really want to go.
“And that’s it.”
“Did he flirt?” I hesitate, and Emma’s eyes widen. “He did.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re not dead, for God’s sake.” Emma shakes her head and takes a bite of the hot buttered toast she made for us.
“He was… friendly, I guess.”
Emma bursts out laughing, almost choking on a crumb of toast. “Kate, he’s a professional hockey player in his twenties. Friendly is flirting.”
“And I’m not in my twenties.”
“So?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“So, it doesn’t mean anything.”
Emma leans forward. “How old is he?”
“Twenty-six, I think.”
She tilts her head. I can see her doing the maths in her head. “And you’re… thirty-five, that’s not bad.”
“It is when you have a fourteen-year-old son.” Emma opens her mouth, then closes it again. Hudson changes things. Everything, really. “I’m serious,” I say quietly. “It’s not appropriate.”
Emma studies me carefully. “You like him, though.”
I focus on my coffee again. The silence stretches long enough to feel uncomfortable. “Maybe,” I admit eventually. “Just a little.”
She leans back with a satisfied smile. “Aha.”
“But it doesn’t matter because he’s too young. Well, compared to me, he is.”
“Twenty-six isn’t that young. I married Tom when I was twenty-four.”
“It is compared to me.”
Emma raises an eyebrow. “You act like you’re fifty.” She reprimands. “And he clearly likes you if he bothered to walk you to the station.”
“That’s basic human decency.” I point out. I’m not sure why I keep dismissing Lukas’ actions, maybe it’s a self-preservation thing.
“Men in their twenties don’t do basic human decency for women they’re not interested in.”
I rub my forehead in exasperation. “You’re making this into something it isn’t.”
Emma softens slightly. “Okay,” she says. “Why can’t it be something?”
I know how these stories end. Men his age want something uncomplicated, and I have responsibilities. I have a teenage son who already feels he has to protect me from the world. And the last man who promised forever disappeared when Hudson was four.
I don’t say any of that, instead I shrug. “It’s unrealistic.”
Emma watches me carefully. “Is that really the reason? You’re sure it’s not because you’re scared?”
I laugh softly. “Of a hockey player?”
“Of wanting something. Someone.”
That feels a little too close to the truth, but before I can answer, the back door opens and Hudson steps inside, hoodie pulled halfway over his head.
He treats Emma’s house as if he lives here.
He never knocks. When his dad left, Emma and Tom stepped up and held me together.
They gave us both the stability we needed at the time.
I’ll never be able to thank them properly for going the extra mile.
He pauses when he sees Emma. “Morning.”
“Morning, superstar,” she says. “Still buzzing from the game?”
He shrugs, trying very hard to look unimpressed. “It was decent.”
Emma grins. “You said that last night.”
“Still true.” He opens Emma’s fridge and stares inside like the contents might suddenly transform into something more interesting.
“Did you see the replay of the second goal?” he asks.
Emma points at me. “You should ask your mum. She watched very closely, apparently.”
Hudson glances at me. “You did?”
“I was there.”
“Yeah, but you usually zone out during sports.” He grabs a yogurt and sits at the table.
“The pass before the goal was good,” he says casually.
Emma looks between us. “Look at that,” she says softly. “You’ve created a hockey fan.”
Hudson rolls his eyes. “I’m not a hockey fan.”
“You stayed up until midnight watching highlights.” I point out, trying not to smile.
“Research.”
Emma laughs as she asks, “What are you researching exactly?”
Hudson shrugs again, but I see the faint curiosity in his expression. “The players.”
“Why?”
He hesitates for a fraction too long. “Just wondering.”
Emma glances at me with a small, knowing smile, which Hudson notices immediately. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” she says, as she grabs a glass from the cupboard and pours orange juice for my son.
His eyes narrow slightly. “Why are you both being weird?”
“We’re not,” I say quickly.
“You are.”
Emma takes another sip of coffee, clearly enjoying herself. She’s set the wheels in motion and is now enjoying the ride.
Hudson looks between us again. “Did you talk to that player again?” he asks suddenly.
My heart skips. “What player?”
“Lukas Devereaux, the French one.”
Emma chokes on her coffee, and Hudson frowns at her. “What?” His eyebrows are drawn tight as he stares between us.
I clear my throat before I fill him in, “He walked me to the station.”
Hudson studies my face carefully. “Why?”
“Because it was dark.”
“Oh.” He nods slowly. That protective instinct flickers across his expression again. “I could have come home with you instead if you were worried, but he seems alright,” Hudson says eventually.
Emma nearly drops her mug. “High praise,” she says.
Hudson shrugs again. “He plays well.”
I smile slightly. “You noticed.”
“Yeah.”
He finishes his yogurt and stands. “I’m going to play FIFA with Tom. He texted me to come over.”
Emma waits until she hears the door to the study close. Then she leans across the table. “You are in so much trouble. That boy is already vetting him.”
I laugh despite myself. “Hudson vets everyone.”
She studies me again, softer this time. “So what are you going to do if the hockey player asks you out?”
“He won’t.” I take a long sip of coffee as my heart rate picks up significantly. “But I’ll say no if he does.”
Emma smiles slowly. “We’ll see.”
But later, as I drive home with Hudson humming quietly in the passenger seat, my mind drifts back to the cold car park. To Lukas, standing under the yellow lights, and the way he watched me board the tram.
Despite everything I told Emma about the age gap, the responsibility, and the voice in my head insisting it’s a terrible idea, a small, reckless part of me wonders what would happen if he asked.