Chapter 6 The Second Chair #2
A small voice followed. "Don’t open it, Aunt Claire!"
I smiled, repeating it under my breath. "Aunt Claire."
Another voice chimed in, higher, excited. "It might be a vampire!"
"Or a big bear!" the first one added.
Claire again, sounding exasperated. "Girls, it’s not a vampire or a bear. It’s... one of your father’s players, his star goalie, actually."
The lock clicked. The door opened.
Claire stood there, eyebrows slightly raised. She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at the bags, then back at me. One hand stayed on the doorknob, the other pressed lightly against the frame. Then she shifted her weight, angled her body slightly out of the doorway.
“What’s all this?” she glanced at the bags, and then at me.
I cleared my throat. “Ingredients for pizza.”
Claire's eyebrows raised, just slightly, “But…I thought you were going to call a place.”
The bags were digging into my hands. I shifted them. Was this a bad idea? Definitely a bad idea.
Okay, Callahan. Time for a save.
“I did. My kitchen.”
Her mouth twitched. She was fighting it. “Liam, you really didn’t need to go to all that trouble. My brother is perfectly fine with the girls having pizza from one of the many places this city is known for.”
I gave a small shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal, though my pulse was drumming harder than it should, given I was just standing still.
The bags were getting heavy.
“They’ll like this better,” I said. “Options. Toppings. Chaos while we roll out the dough. I figured it might buy you an hour of peace.”
It sounded smoother in my head.
Her mouth twitched again. Not a smile. Close.
I stepped forward until I was level with the threshold.
“Can I come in? Or will your nieces think I’m a bear?”
Claire let out a short laugh. “Or a vampire”
“I make a mean garlic bread. Vampires don’t stand a chance.”
That made her laugh. I’d never wanted to win a game as badly as I wanted to hear her laugh again.
She stepped aside and opened the door the rest of the way. I put the bags on the kitchen counter.
The taller of the two stepped forward first. She wore an oversized Sentinel Blades sweatshirt and had her dark blonde hair in two practical braids. A gap in her teeth caught the light when she spoke.
"Hi. I'm Emma."
She crossed her arms. "Do you actually stop the puck every time?"
I grinned. "Has your dad ever had a goalie who stops the puck every time?"
Emma tilted her head, considering. Then shrugged. "Touché."
I laughed and turned to the younger one. Curly light brown hair framed her face, wild and unbothered. Her cheeks were round, her socks mismatched, and one hand had a smudge of purple marker on the knuckles.
She beamed up at me. "You don’t look like a vampire."
Claire gave me a look, one eyebrow lifting. "And he's not just a goalie, he's decided to cook for us too. Turns out he really likes to cook."
Ten minutes later, the apartment smelled like garlic and basil.
The girls had each claimed a job. Emma was on dough patrol, pressing and stretching the circles with focused determination, while Sophie sat on a step stool, scattering torn basil leaves into a bowl with sticky fingers and dramatic flair.
Claire sat at the counter, a glass of sparkling water in her hand, mostly observing. Her posture was relaxed, but I could feel her eyes tracking the three of us.
"This one's yours," I said, sliding a flattened round toward Emma. "Want red sauce or white?"
"Red," she said decisively, then pointed at Sophie. "She likes white. But only if it has chicken."
Sophie nodded, eyes wide. "And cheese. Lots of cheese. But no green things. Except basil. Basil's fancy."
I grinned. "You're a very specific audience."
She stuck out her tongue, then giggled and went back to her bowl.
I glanced up. Claire's lips were curved just slightly.
I turned back to the dough. I’d expected chaos. But the girls were into this. They seemed to be having a good time.
I grabbed a spoon, dipped it into the red sauce simmering on the stove, and walked it over to Claire.
"Taste?"
She set her glass down and leaned in slightly, taking the spoon without comment. Her lips wrapped around it, and for a second, her expression gave her away; eyebrows lifted just a touch, eyes narrowing with approval. She handed the spoon back, eyes still on mine.
"It’s edible," she said, shrugging one shoulder.
I huffed a laugh. "That’s high praise from microwave royalty."
Claire’s eyes sparkled. "Hey, I value efficiency."
"And dried herbs?"
She stepped closer and gave my arm a light swat. "One time. Because the farmers market had already closed."
From across the counter, both girls giggled.
Sophie tilted her head, basil still clinging to her fingers. "Are you guys in love?"
My hand stilled. The spoon suddenly felt heavier. Heat ran up the handle like the sauce had burned me. I looked down at it, buying a second.
Claire choked on her sparkling water, coughing into her hand.
I glanced up, she was covering her mouth, her neck flushed pink.
I leaned in slightly toward the girls, lowering my voice. "I’m trying to get her to be my kitchen assistant. Or maybe… I’m the assistant. Hard to tell.” Then I leaned towards them to whisper, “really, I’m trying to teach her how to cook."
Both girls burst into laughter, Sophie practically sliding off her stool.
Claire shook her head, setting her glass down with a quiet clink, but I caught the corner of her mouth lifting again.
Then it was Emma’s turn. She narrowed her eyes at me like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "You like her though."
I looked at her. Then at Claire.
Claire wasn’t looking at me, she’d picked up the stack of napkins and was methodically folding them, one by one, smoothing each edge.
"It’s been nice having her around," I said.
Sophie giggled again. Emma smirked.
After dinner, we drifted to the couch while the girls argued over which movie to watch.
Eventually, they settled on something animated and loud.
By the time the credits rolled, Sophie was curled into my side, thumb near her mouth, one sparkly sock on, one missing.
Emma had fallen asleep leaning on Claire’s shoulder, one braid slipping loose down her back.
The room had gone quiet. Just the low hum of the credits and the soft, rhythmic sound of kid snores.
Neither of us moved.
Then came the sound of a key in the lock.
The door opened and Nolan stepped in, followed by his wife. Both froze for a second.
Claire looked up and said casually, "He made us pizza." As if that was an adequate explanation for why one of my coaches' daughters was asleep on top of me.
Brooke smiled slowly, her gaze shifting from Claire to me and back again. Then she mouthed something to Claire, too quiet to catch, but whatever it was made Claire cheek pink again.
She crossed to the couch and gently scooped Sophie from my side. "I’m Brooke. It’s nice to meet you," she whispered.
I stood awkwardly, brushing at my jeans, looking at my coach. "I just wanted to make sure Claire could focus on spending time with her nieces… and still get a home-cooked meal."
Nolan blinked. "Thanks, I guess."
I scratched the back of my neck. "Okay, well… I should probably head out."
Behind me, Claire stood up carefully. "Wait up. I’ll ride down with you."
The ride down to my apartment was quiet. The elevator felt smaller than usual, her sleeve brushing mine. I glanced sideways, Claire was already looking at me.
"I didn’t expect you to show up tonight. Make us dinner," she said softly. "That wasn’t necessary. But I do appreciate it."
I shrugged one shoulder. "You’re welcome. I didn’t expect to enjoy myself so much."
Claire let out a quiet laugh. "You mean, you enjoyed being interrogated by a five- and seven-year-old?"
I didn’t answer. Just held her gaze.
"The whole thing," I said.
She blinked, then glanced away. Her hand brushed the hem of her sweater. There was a new color in her cheeks again, something softer than before.
When we stepped into the hallway, we paused just inside my apartment door. Neither of us moved. We stood there, facing each other.
There was a small pulse in my neck.
"Good night, Claire," I said quietly.
She hesitated. Just for a second.
"Good night, Liam." She turned and walked toward the guest wing.
I crossed to the balcony and slid the door open. The night air was cool, pleasant. I stepped out and looked up.
A few stars managed to push through the city haze. Not many. Just enough to notice.
The chair sat where it always did, angled toward the skyline. I dropped into it, elbows on my knees, the distant hum of traffic folding around me.
I sat like that for a minute. Maybe more.
I do like the way it feels to have someone around.
Then I stood, stretched once, and turned toward the door.
I brushed a fingertip over the back of the chair as I passed it. A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
"I wonder if I can find another chair to match."