Chapter 3
Everything in Order
Claire
I stood in the center of the living room with a measuring tape in one hand and a mechanical pencil tucked behind my ear.
The apartment was quiet except for the low murmur of city traffic filtering through the windows; high enough to know we were in a city, low enough that the insulation was good.
The tape measure snapped back into its casing as I eyed the wall where the storage bench was supposed to go. Two inches too close to the coat closet, and Nolan would inevitably jam his elbow into it every time he grabbed his jacket.
I made a note in my notebook.
Shift two inches left. Confirm clearance with the door swing.
The next box was labeled Kitchen – Brooke’s Essentials. I opened it carefully, removed items one by one and placed them into neat piles on the counter: reusable water bottles, Bento lunchboxes, a silicone baking mat shaped like a dinosaur, and an entire arsenal of cookie cutters.
I muttered, "Lunch prep here, breakfast gear there. Diagonal flow from fridge to sink. Efficient."
Two rolled-up rugs leaned against the wall. One was a soft gray-blue with a scattered geometric print, the other a multicolored weave with just enough pattern to camouflage jelly fingerprints and mystery goop. I unrolled both, weighed the options, and chose the bolder one. Kid-proof. Mostly.
My phone buzzed.
I swiped to answer the FaceTime call. Nolan appeared on screen, grinning like he knew something I didn’t. Which, to be fair, had been his default setting since third grade. He was in a car, hair tousled, seatbelt slung across his chest.
"Hey, you. You surviving the boxes?"
"Define surviving," I said, gesturing to the flat-pack toy chest at my feet. Half assembled, half mocking me.
"Brooke could’ve just bought that pre-built."
"And lose the joy of an Allen wrench and four hours of my life? Never."
He laughed, then rubbed the back of his neck. "You’re a good sport, Claire. Seriously. Thank you."
I waved him off. “Well, you know, you’re my favorite brother.”
“Um, Claire, I'm your only brother.”
I laughed. It was our standing joke.
"Quick question, are the girls still planning to share a room? I need to know whether to split the dresser drawers or leave them together."
"Yeah, for now. And you know they’ll end up in the same bed by night two."
"Then I’ll stock extra blankets in the closet."
He shook his head. "You really are running this place like an OR."
I arched a brow. "That’s because it’s the only operating room I am cleared for, doctor's orders."
There was a pause. Just long enough to feel it.
I smiled quickly. "Honestly, it works. Content creation for medical education is portable. If I had to give up practicing medicine, at least I get to work anywhere and help people learn. That’s a win."
He looked like he wanted to say something else but nodded. "I mean it, thank you. You always step in where it counts."
"If I’m not going to have my own family chaos, I might as well organize yours."
He gave me a look. Half fond, half teasing. "You’re too much. But I love you. See you later?"
"Always."
The call ended. I stood there for a second, staring at the blank screen.
The apartment was starting to look like a home. Every cabinet had a labeled bin. The couch throw was folded just so. I’d even added a wall hook at kid height for backpacks.
It all worked.
But something felt off.
I stood still, half-squinting at the front doorway, like something didn’t quite add up.
“That’s it.” I picked up my pen and scribbled a new note to myself.
Pick up a shoe tray for the entryway.
I checked the weather app on my phone and frowned. Rain, later this afternoon.
"Guess I’m going now."
I promised Brooke I’d evaluate the local farmers market, so I grabbed my keys and headed downstairs. At the front desk, I spotted Arturo and paused.
"Hey, Arturo, any decent farmers' markets around here?"
"Four blocks south," he said without missing a beat, handing me a reusable bag like he'd been waiting for the question. "Red-striped awnings. Best peaches in the city."
I smiled. "Appreciate the tip. I’ll report back."
"You’d better. I have high standards."
I laughed and pushed open the door, stepping into the city buzz.
I took the long way back from the market, cutting through the little residential square near the apartment. A few café tables spilled onto the sidewalk.
I grabbed a cup of coffee. Kids chased pigeons near the fountain. A couple leaned into each other on a bench under a tree, talking low, laughing even lower.
The bench at the far edge of the square provided a perfect balance of shade and distance from the cute couple.
Tablet balanced on my lap, grocery bag resting by my foot, I tapped out a list for the girls’ arrival next week: kid-sized hangers, sunscreen, a double set of shampoo bottles so they wouldn’t have to share.
But my eyes kept drifting.
The couple was still there. Still leaning close. The man said something, and the woman tilted her head, smiling like the moment was just for them. Like she’d always known how to lean into a shoulder without overthinking it.
That kind of closeness looked easy for some people.
I blinked and looked down at my list. Wrote the word "toothbrushes." Underlined it. Then paused, pen hovering.
Who am I kidding?
I didn’t even like living with roommates.
In college, I labeled everything. In med school, I practically lived in the library. After residency, I sublet a one-bedroom apartment and never looked back.
Solo meant streamlined. Efficient. Clean.
At least, that’s what I used to tell myself.
Now?
I guess I’m just better at managing the chaos than being part of it.
My pen stilled against the screen.
What it would feel like to be someone’s favorite person. What would it feel like to know that he couldn’t think straight when I walked into a room? Who knew my laugh by heart? Whose world shrank when I smiled?
I blinked fast. Took a sip of coffee that had gone lukewarm and tapped the edge of the tablet like I was refreshing it.
Then stood. Shoulders straight. Jeans pressed.
Time for errands.
"Okay," I muttered. "Enough."
It sounded practical.
But it felt like a retreat.
The apartment door clicked shut behind me, and I caught my reflection in the hallway mirror, grocery bag in one hand, shoulders a little too straight. I had barely unloaded the bags when I heard the elevator ding again.
I glanced at the clock.
Right on cue.
I wiped my hands on a dishtowel and ran one finger along the edge of a throw pillow. Flattened a crease. Then stepped back.
"He’s going to say I overdid it," I muttered. And fluffed the pillow one more time anyway.
The door swung open, and Nolan filled the frame with his ex-player swagger. Tall, broad-shouldered, coach mode, softened by dad mode.
He let out a low whistle. "Wow. You made this place feel like home."
"You’re welcome," I said dryly, already turning toward the kitchen. If I stood still, he might hear the emotion in my voice.
He followed, glancing around, while I narrated like a home show host.
"Pantry’s alphabetized. The kids’ room has blackout curtains and identical stuffed animals to prevent bedtime negotiations. The bathroom got reorganized for tiny hands. And yes, before you ask, I labeled everything."
"Help us all," Nolan muttered. But he was smiling.
We reached his office. On the credenza, a framed clipping waited for a frame: Bennett Named Head Coach. He paused. Silence settled as he stepped to the desk.
Photos lined the wall in a tight, deliberate grid. One of him, lifting the Stanley Cup, pre-coaching days. Another with his arm raised on the bench, shouting mid-play.
A third, Brooke and the girls on a beach, hair wind-blown and sunlit. In the corner, a laminated newspaper clipping with the headline: Bennett Leads Chestnut Ridge to First Conference Title in a Decade.
He pointed at one. "Can’t believe you found this one. That game in Calgary? You nearly froze to death in the stands."
I smirked. "And I still say the jacket was fashion over function."
I nodded toward an empty frame slot. "Left space for the coaching Cup photo. You know, for when you finally win it."
He groaned like I’d punched him. "Claire, come on. You know I’m superstitious."
"You said that on national TV. The superstition ship has sailed."
He gave me a look, then pulled me into a hug.
"You know I wish you had someone in your life," he said, voice low near my ear. "But I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you."
I smiled. But my eyes caught the photo of him and Brooke on the beach.
Yeah. It would be nice to have what you have.
I stepped back, tightened my ponytail, and asked, "You want coffee?"
He shook his head no and reached over to ruffled my hair.
I smacked his arm. "You’re not allowed to do that anymore."
"You’re still the same kid who made her own flashcards in fourth grade."
"And laminated them," I said. "Let’s not leave that part out."
He stepped into the kitchen, running a hand along the edge of the island.
“The girls are going to love this kitchen.”
I smiled.
That’s precisely what I had said to Liam when we were standing so close in his kitchen I could smell his cologne.
My stomach did a weird little dip.
Did I eat anything today?
Nolan walked into the living room and plopped down on the couch. I sat on the chair next to him. Nolan leaned back, draping an arm over the cushion.
"Hey," Nolan said, "let’s go over the practice facility setup. We should make sure there’s a desk open for you if you want to work from there when you're here. A home office away from your own home office."
"Yeah, I figured I’d stay here with you until the girls finish school and Brooke brings them here. But yeah, I wouldn’t mind somewhere to plug in. Preferably where the Zoom background doesn’t include pink walls and rainbow art."
He pulled a folded schedule out of his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the counter. "Come by the arena this afternoon. I’ll introduce you to the facilities team."
Nolan tapped the schedule once, then gave me a half-smile. “See you around 4?” His jacket was on before I could nod, and in true Nolan fashion, he didn’t linger. Just a quiet exit and the soft click of the door behind him.
I pulled out my phone, opened the calendar app, and tapped in: Hockey Facility – 4:00 p.m. Then I set an alarm for 3:40, just in case I lost track of time, which I would.
I put the phone down and started unpacking the rest of the market haul. The peaches went into a bowl on the counter, tomatoes onto a dish towel to ripen. When the alarm buzzed, I wiped my hands, shut it off, grabbed my coat, and headed for the elevator.
The Sentinel Blades facility looked exactly like the kind of place where elite athletes were built—glass, steel, and precision.
It smelled faintly of fresh paint and lemon floor cleaner.
Digital signage looped stats and highlight clips near the lobby entrance, and the quiet hum of refrigeration units from the skate bays echoed somewhere down the hall.
I gave my name to the receptionist and added, "Nolan Bennett’s sister. He said I could stop by."
The receptionist smiled. "Coach Bennett’s in a meeting, but you can wait in his office. Down that hallway, third door on the left."
I thanked her and headed down the hall, phone in one hand, manila folder in the other. Inside Nolan’s office, I took in the clean lines and massive window overlooking the practice rink. A dry-erase board filled with lines, names, and arrows. Organized chaos.
I set the folder down and sat on the edge of the leather guest chair, legs crossed, fingers tapping once against my knee.
A minute later, the door opened.
"There she is," Nolan said, already pulling me into a quick, familiar hug. "Thought I heard efficiency coming down the hallway."
I stepped back. "I try to keep it under 70 decibels."
He gestured toward the chair. "Sit. Let’s knock this out."
We went over the list, furniture they'd bring from their old place, what I’d already set up in the apartment, school options for the girls, and the status of the bulk snack situation. I had answers for everything. Of course I did.
"I’ll move out while Brooke and the girls are here," I said, sliding a sticky note onto the folder. "That’ll give you space."
"You don’t have to do that."
"I want to."
"Claire—"
"You’ve all been apart for a few weeks. You need family time.
" I hesitated, then added, "And honestly, I don’t want to be in the way.
You barely see them during the season, and the girls deserve every second of you they can get.
" I put the folder on his desk. "Besides the third bedroom is shaping up to be your home office.
I'd rather not go to sleep watching you look at game films."
He gave me ‘the look’. "You’re stubborn."
"Accurate."
I shifted the folder a few inches to the right. “I’ll probably just find a short-term rental nearby,” I said. “I do want to see Brooke and the girls while they’re here. Help out if they need me.”
The door creaked open behind me.
“Coach, you wanted to see—oh, sorry. Didn’t realize you had someone in here.”
I turned.
Everything slowed.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Athletic. Hair slightly rumpled like he’d run a hand through it, walking in. Striking green eyes. Definitely the kind of guy I’d glance at once in a coffee shop, then ... well, nothing would happen. That's my life.
But my body hadn’t gotten the memo. A sudden flutter moved through my chest, uninvited and unwelcome.
His gaze locked on mine, sharp and just a fraction too steady. He blinked once, slowly. Like he was recalibrating something.
My spine straightened on instinct.
He stepped into the room, without breaking eye contact, before nodding at Nolan.
My hand tightened around the folder I hadn’t realized I was still holding.
Wait, the apartment tour guy?
"Liam?”