2
"Flirting with the nanny on her first day? That's a bold strategy," I quip, meeting his gaze again. There’s a challenge there, but also warmth.
"Who says I'm flirting?" he teases back, but the twinkle in his eye betrays him. "Maybe I'm just being friendly."
"Uh-huh," I murmur, unable to suppress my grin. "And maybe I'm just being polite by not calling your bluff."
"Fair enough," he concedes with a playful raise of his eyebrows. "But just for the record, if I were flirting, would it be working?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy with possibility. My heart skips, my rational mind warring with the fluttering in my stomach. Yes, it is working—far better than I dare admit.
"Let's stick to coffee for now," I say, deflecting with a smile. But the truth is, I like him. And despite all my reservations, I can't deny the genuine connection forming between us—one that seems worth exploring, even if I have to tread carefully.
No. Nope. We so do not have time for that, Aly.
Our conversation drifts from light-hearted banter to comfortable silences. I cradle the warm mug between my hands, letting the heat seep into my skin—a stark contrast to the coolness that had settled in my chest after the near-disaster with the stove.
But then, a door opening cuts through our mirth. Harlow's voice precedes her, a sing-song tale about butterflies and pirates that brings an instant smile to my face. Noah is just behind her by the sound of the footsteps. Even out of sight, his presence fills the space with an invisible weight that seems to press against my already frayed nerves.
"Why does it smell like smoke in here?" he asks, his tone edged with the sharpness of concern.
I wince, bracing myself for the fallout, but Liam just winks at me. I’m not sure that makes me feel better.
Chapter 2 - Noah
I'm huffing and puffing as I finally slow to a stop in front of our house, sweat beading on my forehead. I’m getting too old for this shit. But I’ll be damned if I start to get complacent just because I’m on the bench instead of the ice now.
I’ll miss it, playing week after week. But Harlow is more than worth quitting. And it’s not like I’m leaving the sport I love behind me. I’m just taking on a different role now: assistant coach.
The morning sun is already high enough to bring warmth to the day, but the cool air from the run still clings to my skin. I look over the handle at Harlow sitting in the behemoth of a stroller I’ve created. It's a contraption I had to upgrade to—a bike trailer with a stroller adapter—since Harlow outgrew the regular jogger and insists on joining my morning routines.
Not like I could leave her here anyway. She gets up with the sun and our housemates, Liam and Finn, definitely do not .
"Did you have fun, princess?" I ask, trying to catch my breath.
She nods enthusiastically, her reddish-brown curls bouncing. "Fast, Daddy! We go so fast!"
"Yeah, we sure do." I chuckle, wiping the perspiration from my brow with the back of my hand. As I press the clicker to open the garage, I add, "We'll have to tell Miss Althea about our speedy adventures. I’m sure she'd love to hear all about them."
"Miss Al-uh-theer-uh?" Harlow tilts her head, looking up at me with those bright hazel eyes that never miss a thing. "Who's that?"
"Althea, sweetheart. Your new nanny, remember?" I ease the stroller through the garage, careful not to bump into anything. "She's going to be spending time with us, helping out around here. She’ll be taking care of you while Daddy works."
"Like a babysitter?" Her voice is full of curiosity, not missing a beat.
"Exactly like a babysitter, but she’ll be here all the time instead of just sometimes." I nod, feeling a twinge of something—relief mixed with trepidation—at the thought of someone new entering our carefully balanced world.
"Will she play with me?" Harlow asks, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.
"Of course, she will. She's here to help take care of you, which includes playing."
"Is she going to be my new mommy?" The question hits me like a punch to the gut, and it takes a moment for me to find my voice.
"No, princess. Althea is here to help us because Daddy has a lot of work sometimes. But you know I'm always here for you, right?" My heart is heavy as I lift her from the stroller, setting her down gently on the floor.
"Uh-huh." Harlow nods, though there's a thoughtful frown tugging at her small brows. "Can we still have pancakes on Sundays?"
"Absolutely. Pancakes on Sundays are a Callahan tradition." I ruffle her hair, hoping to dispel the seriousness of our conversation.
"Okay!" She brightens up immediately, the earlier question seemingly forgotten as she skips ahead of me into the depths of the garage.
"Hey, where you off to in such a hurry?" I call after her, my voice echoing slightly in the open space.
I wrestle the stroller into its designated spot, muscles still warm from the run. Harlow's already halfway to the backyard, her latest acquisition clutched in her tiny fist—a shiny rock she'd found near the trail that glinted like a rough diamond in her eyes.
"Harlow, wait up," I call out, giving my head a disbelieving shake. There's no stopping her when she's on a mission. Chuckling to myself, I follow the path of her bouncing curls as we cut through the dew-kissed grass to her playhouse.
"Where does this one go?" I ask as I watch her dash into the playhouse, her sanctuary of treasures.
"In the special box!" she hollers back, her voice muffled by the wooden walls. I can just picture her sorting through her collection, each item with its own story.
"Keep it safe then," I reply, stepping onto the patio and reaching for the door handle.
Harlow quickly hurries to meet me, singing some song about butterflies and…pirates? What an interesting tale she’s spinning. I chuckle under my breath as I open the back door to let us both inside.
Quick as lightning, my little princess takes off into the house. But before I can follow, a peculiar scent hits me—a tang of smoke that has no business being here on a crisp morning.
"Whoa, what the—" The word hangs in my throat as I push the door open and step inside. There's no mistaking that smell. Smoke. But there's no haze, no flicker of flames. No shriek of alarms either. Just the unnerving odor of something burnt.
My voice is sharp, slicing through the silence. "Why does it smell like smoke in here?"
The house feels different—like I've walked into the aftermath of chaos now pretending to be calm. I'm on high alert, ready to jump into action. It's not just my home; it's Harlow's safe haven, and nothing threatens that. Not on my watch. Not ever again.
The scent of smoke still clinging to the air, I follow Harlow's eager footsteps echoing against the tile floor. "Uncle Bestie!" she squeals, her voice a mixture of excitement and impatience that only a child can muster so early in the morning.
"All right, munchkin, keep it down," I warn half-heartedly. Harlow never does anything at half volume. It's one of her more endearing traits that she shared with her mother—before she left.
As I step into the kitchen, my eyes land on a sight that makes my blood run a degree cooler. Liam and Althea are sitting side by side at the breakfast bar, their heads close together, sharing a private moment over steaming mugs. It's too intimate for comfort, too cozy for my liking.
"Hey, Little Bestie!" Liam's voice booms as he scoops up Harlow, swinging her onto his lap. His green eyes mirror mine, but they're filled with a lightness that I can't seem to access these days.
"Hi, Uncle Bestie!" Harlow giggles, wrapping her small arms around his neck.
I narrow my eyes at Althea, searching for a sign, any indication of where her interests lie. There’s a warmth in her eyes as she watches my little brother and my daughter together. She looks up at me, a polite smile gracing her lips, but there's a guarded edge to it—as if she knows she's treading on thin ice. Good. Let her be cautious. The last thing I need is for Harlow to get attached to someone who isn't going to stick around.
"Morning, Noah," she greets me, her voice holding a warmth that doesn't quite reach those stunning gray-blue eyes.
"Morning," I reply curtly, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in my gut. I didn't expect to find them like this; didn't expect it to bother me. But it does. "Everything okay here?"
"Of course!" Liam chuckles, ruffling Harlow's hair. "We're just discussing our favorite pancake toppings. Right, Harlow?"
"Chocolate chips!" she chimes in, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling through the room.
"Sounds like a serious debate," I manage to say, my gaze lingering on Althea a moment longer than necessary. Is she just another notch on Liam's bedpost? I hope not. She's got a job to do, and I brought her here for Harlow—not to play house with my younger brother.
"Is it always this lively in the mornings?" Althea asks, redirecting the conversation with a practiced ease that impresses me despite myself.
"Only when Harlow wakes up before the crack of dawn," I answer, allowing a hint of a smile to touch my lips for her benefit.
"Which is every day!" Liam interjects, squeezing Harlow affectionately.
"Right." I nod, knowing all too well my daughter's penchant for early starts. "So, about that smoke..."
"Ah, just a little mishap with breakfast," Liam says with a shrug that's meant to be reassuring. "Nothing to worry about."
"Sure," I mutter, still not convinced. My protective instincts are screaming that something's off, but for now, I'll let it slide. For Harlow's sake.
I lean against the counter, arms crossed as I fix my gaze on Liam. His sheepish grin does little to mask the mischief in those green eyes—a look I know all too well.
"Okay, spill it. What happened with the smoke?" My tone is firm but not unkind. I'm more curious than angry, especially since Harlow is safe and clearly entertained.
Liam rubs the back of his neck, chuckling. "Yeah, that was my bad. Let's just say the kitchen and I had a minor disagreement."
Althea's reaction is immediate, her lips parting in an “O” of surprise before she averts her gaze, brow furrowed and lips pursed. It's hard not to notice how her gray-blue eyes shimmer with hesitation, or how the morning light caresses the waves of her white-blonde hair, casting a halo around her delicate features.
I’d bet my left nutsack that Liam had absolutely nothing to do with the fire. The fact that he’s covering for the nanny only twists my gut further.
"Wasn't too serious, was it?" I ask, my concern for the safety of my home momentarily outweighed by the sight of Althea's expressive face.
"Nothing a little ventilation couldn't fix," Liam assures me, waving off the incident like he dismisses most of life's hiccups—with effortless charm.
"Uh-huh." I'm skeptical but decide to let it go.
Before I can delve deeper into the mishap, Harlow tugs at Althea's sleeve, her small voice struggling with the syllables of her name. "Al...Al-teer-ah?"
Althea leans down to Harlow's level, her smile warm and inviting. "You can call me Aly if that's easier. That's what all my closest friends call me. And, we’re going to be friends, right?" She winks at Harlow conspiratorially.
Harlow beams up at her, the little gap between her front teeth making her smile all the more endearing. "Aly," she echoes with a nod, as if committing the name to memory. "But not best friends. Since I already have TWO of those."
Aly laughs, a clear, melodic sound that fills the room. "Of course, not best friends. We'll be great friends though, won't we?"
"Yep!" Harlow confirms, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, already taken with Althea—Aly.
I watch their interaction, noting Aly's natural rapport with Harlow. There's something about her—beyond the striking beauty—that puts you at ease. And as much as I hate to admit it, seeing her here, making my daughter smile, it makes me feel...hopeful. Maybe she's exactly what we need.
But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Or trust this too quickly. I’ve made mistakes in the past, mistakes that had hurt Harlow, and I wasn’t about to make another.
"Can we play now?" Harlow's voice peeks out from under a mop of curly reddish hair, her bright hazel eyes locking onto Aly with hopeful anticipation.
Aly glances at the kitchen clock and then back at Harlow with a playful tilt of her head. "How about some breakfast first? I made pancakes," she says, her tone light but firm, revealing a nurturing side laced with gentle authority. “A little birdie told me they were a must-have on Sunday mornings.”
"Pancakes!" Harlow exclaims, clapping her hands together as if they're the greatest treasure unearthed. Her enthusiasm is infectious, even to my gruff sensibilities.
“I made them extra special. These are my world-famous cinnamon banana pancakes!”
"Can we have pancakes now?" Harlow asks, looking at Aly with wide, expectant eyes.
"Absolutely, sweet pea." Aly's smile softens, genuine this time, as she glances at me. "If that's okay with your dad?"
"Fine by me," I say, because what else can I say when my little girl looks at me like that? "Just try to eat more than you wear, all right?"
Aly laughs, and I can't help but notice how it lights up her whole face. And for just a second, my stomach does another twist, but this time it's not from discomfort—it's something else entirely. Something I'm not ready to name.
We gather around the kitchen island where a stack of golden-brown pancakes awaits, the rich scent of maple syrup already making my mouth water. Harlow clambers onto a stool, her little legs swinging with barely contained eagerness. Aly slides a plate in front of her, and Harlow's grin stretches wide.
"Thank you, Aly," she chirps, her earlier difficulty with Aly's name replaced with the newfound nickname that seems to roll off her tongue with ease.
"Enjoy," Aly replies, her smile genuine. She serves up plates for Liam and me too, though I catch a slight hesitation as she offers mine, as if she's unsure of her place here.
As we dig into breakfast, I watch how effortlessly Aly interacts with Harlow, answering her barrage of questions with patience and an attentive ear. "Why is the sky blue, Aly?" Harlow quizzes between bites, and Aly launches into a kid-friendly explanation involving light and air.
"Is it like...magic?" Harlow asks, her fork pausing mid-air.
"Sort of," Aly agrees, winking. "Science is a bit like magic, isn't it? Maybe we can do some experiments later on?"
It's hard not to be drawn to Aly's warmth, and I find myself softening despite my initial reservations. My gaze shifts to Liam, who watches the exchange with a smile that borders on desire. Something about his look, a mix of admiration and something else, grips my stomach in a knot.
"Uncle Bestie, do you think science is magic?" Harlow turns to Liam, seeking his validation.
"Absolutely," Liam agrees, chuckling. "But Aly might be the real magician here, flipping pancakes and fixing smiles."
"Flipping pancakes is easy," Aly deflects, brushing off the compliment with a self-conscious tuck of her wavy hair behind one ear.
I push my chair back, the legs scraping against the kitchen tiles. The last bite of pancake sits heavy in my stomach—a mix of Aly's cooking and the uncertainty that bubbles inside me whenever someone new enters Harlow's orbit.
"Aly, you said we'd play!" Harlow's voice, bright and expectant, cuts through the thick air of the kitchen.
"Sure did, sweets," Aly smiles at her, then glances over at Liam, who’s already stacking plates with one hand and ruffling Harlow's hair with the other.
"Go on, I've got this mess," he says, his tone casual but his eyes locked on Aly with an intensity that doesn't match the lightness of his words.
Aly's gaze flits to me, seeking permission. Her eyes hold a silent question, and in them, I see the careful balance she's trying to strike—eager but not overstepping, confident yet seeking approval.
"Go ahead," I nod once, firmly. It's a test, for both of them, really. For her to show she can handle my world—my daughter. For me to learn if I can loosen the reins just a bit.
"Yay!" Harlow claps her hands, already tugging at Aly's sleeve.
"Thank you," Aly mouths to me, a whisper of gratitude before she turns her full attention to Harlow. "Lead the way, captain!"
Chapter 3 - Noah
I notice Harlow's tiny fingers curled around Aly's, tugging her along with a determination that's both endearing and fierce. It reminds me so much of her mother—the way she used to pull me toward whatever caught her fleeting fancy. The memory is unwelcome, souring the moment.
They disappear around the corner, and I'm left with the echo of their laughter mingling with the clink of dishes. Liam's shoulders move in an easy rhythm as he washes up, but there's a tension there I hadn't noticed before—like he's holding his breath.
"Harlow seems to like her," I say, more to myself than to Liam.
"Hard not to," he replies without turning. "Aly's got something special about her."
"Let's hope so." The words are heavier than I intend, laden with the responsibility that rests on my shoulders. Harlow's happiness is my compass, the true north that guides every decision, every risk.
"Hey." Liam finally looks at me, his expression stern in a way that's rare for him. "She'll be fine, Noah. We both will."
"Right." I agree, because I want to believe it. Because when it comes to Harlow, there's nothing I wouldn't do to ensure that “fine” is just the starting point.
Which brings me back to the issue at hand: Liam’s wandering dick.
"Stay away from her," I tell Liam, my voice carrying a warning. My eyes flicker to his, catching the glint of something more than just brotherly concern.
"Relax, big bro. She's not my type," Liam chuckles, but it's hollow, unconvincing. I know that look; I've seen it too many times before, that spark of interest that he can't quite hide.
"Good," I grunt, my gaze shifting back to where Harlow and Aly have vanished from view. "Because she's here for Harlow, not to get tangled up with us."
"Us?" Liam raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his green eyes that mirror my own. "You planning on getting tangled up with her, Noah?"
"Shut it, Liam." I don't want to smile, but it tugs at the corner of my mouth regardless. I shove the feeling away, replacing it with the familiar weight of caution. "Just...watch yourself."
"Always do." He goes back to scrubbing a pot, dismissing my concerns with the ease of someone who's never been burned. But I haven't forgotten the acrid smell that greeted me when I walked in earlier, the scent of smoke that still lingers faintly in the air.
"Speaking of which," I say, leaning against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest like a barricade. "I know you had nothing to do with the smell of smoke in my house, Liam. You shouldn’t be covering for her."
"Ah." Liam pauses mid-scrub, the sponge dripping suds onto the stainless steel. "That was nothing. Just a little mishap while Aly was cooking."
"Is that right?" Skepticism colors my tone. "And I suppose you took care of it?"
"Of course." He resumes his washing with a bit more vigor than necessary. "No harm done."
"Listen," I start, fixing him with a stare meant to convey the gravity of my next words. "If she's incompetent, I need to know early so I can handle it. Harlow’s safety is at stake here."
"Hey, everyone gets nervous their first day on the job," Liam deflects, an edge of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Give her a break. She's doing fine."
"Fine doesn't cut it when it comes to Harlow." I push away from the counter, my movements stiff. "She's all I've got, Liam. I can't afford any mistakes."
"Neither can Aly," he mutters, almost too low for me to hear.
The thud of footsteps signals another presence, and Finn enters, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. "Are we talking about the hot new nanny?" He heads straight for the stack of pancakes on the plate by the stove, popping one into his mouth like it's nothing.
"Not you too," I say, watching him wipe his hands on his shorts, the remnants of his workout still evident in the flush of his cheeks. "She’s not here for either of you. She’s here for Harlow. Keep your dicks in your pants or I will remove them with a rusty skate blade."
Both of them grimace as they protectively cover their crotches. But Finn recovers quickly, mischief lighting his face.
"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" Finn grins, crumbs dotting his lips. His brown-gold eyes flick between Liam and me, sensing the undercurrents of our earlier conversation. Finn’s always been perceptive; it’s part of what makes him such a valuable player on the ice—and a pain in my ass off it.
But he’s family even if he isn’t blood. He and Liam have been attached at the hip since they were kids. I watched them come up through youth hockey together, get through college together, and now play professionally side-by-side. So, it made perfect sense for him to join Liam when he moved in to help out with Harlow after Hannah…did what she did.
"Fun's not exactly what I'm aiming for," I mutter, glancing back toward the hallway where Aly and Harlow disappeared. My house, once a fortress of solitude, now feels like it's teetering on the edge of chaos.
"Relax, Noah," Liam chides gently, pushing off from the counter to clap me on the shoulder. "Aly will settle in. You'll see."
I want to believe him, I really do. But trust doesn't come easy, not anymore. I watch Finn devour another pancake, and it strikes me that despite everything, he and Liam are constants I can count on—sturdy as the goalposts at Arctic Arena.
"Let's hope so," I say finally, and force myself to take a breath. Maybe Liam's right. Maybe I need to give Aly a chance to prove she can handle more than just burned towels and tea parties.
The acrid taint of char still lingers as I make my way to the sink. It's subtle, maybe not enough to set off alarms for everyone, but it sets off all of mine. My eyes lock onto the blackened edges of a towel slumped over the basin like a casualty. "This," I say, hoisting it up for Liam to see, "this is what I'm talking about."
"Come on, Noah. It's just a towel." Liam’s voice carries that ever-present note of patience he reserves for me when I'm about to spiral over something he deems trivial.
"Symbols, Liam," I counter, dropping the towel back into the sink with disdain. "Symbols of incompetence. What if next time it's not a towel? What if?—"
"Harlow will be fine, Noah. Aly wouldn't put her in danger," he interrupts, his tone firm, brooking no argument.
"Wouldn't she?" I press, frustration edging my words. "How can we be sure?"
"Because I've seen her with Harlow—you’ve seen her with Harlow. She's gentle, attentive...and she's trying, damn it!"
My jaw clenches as I struggle with the conflict within me. Protectiveness wars with the need to trust, and right now, protectiveness is winning by a landslide.
I rub at the tension coiling in my neck as I shoot a hard look at Liam. He's leaning against the counter, all casual nonchalance that grates on my last nerve. "She lit a towel on fire, Liam."
"Hey, everyone gets the jitters their first day," he says with a shrug, his green eyes twinkling with that perpetual mischief. "Aly seems great. Plus, your kitchen has more gadgets than a spaceship. Give her a break."
"Spaceships don't have kitchens." I retort, but there's no heat behind it. I'm too wrapped up in the image of Harlow's tiny hand in Aly's, how easily she took to her.
“If they did, it would look exactly like this,” Finn gestures around the room with the pancake dangling from his fingers.
I don't respond, leaving them to their thoughts and the soapy water. Instead, I follow the path Harlow and Aly took, drawn by the sound of my daughter's laughter and my curiosity about the woman who's managed to coax it out of her.
The playroom door swings open quietly, and there they are. Harlow, my little firecracker, has laid out her tea set with the precision only a three-year-old can muster. Her tutu fans out around her, and the tiara perched atop her head glitters under the room's bright lights. Aly kneels beside her, a plastic teacup in hand, completely absorbed in the world my daughter has created.
"Careful, Miss Aly! You almost stepped on Mr. Fluffles!" Harlow scolds, pointing at the stuffed rabbit precariously close to my foot.
"I am so sorry, Princess Harlow." Aly sidesteps the imaginary landmine. "I didn't see him there. My deepest apologies. Mr. Fluffles."
Leaning against the doorframe, I watch Aly as she listens to Harlow's excited chatter. The sunlight pouring through the window catches in her white-blonde hair, turning it into a halo of light around her head. She's truly beautiful, like some kind of ethereal being who's stumbled into my chaotic world. Her smile—so warm and inviting—it's like a ray of sunshine piercing through a perpetually overcast sky.
"Uncle Bestie never gets the tea strength right," Harlow declares, her little hand waving a pink plastic teapot with authority.
"Is that so?" Aly's voice is a soft melody, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, we'll just have to show him how it's done then, won't we?"
"Yep!" Harlow nods vigorously, tugging on Aly's sleeve. "You gotta stay forever and ever!"
A pang goes through me—a mix of something like hope and a whole lot of fear. She's doing great with Harlow, engaging in every whimsical demand as if she was born to play this role. Yet here I am, a silent observer, unable to shake the nagging doubts clawing at the back of my mind.
"More sugar, please," Harlow instructs, holding out her cup for an imaginary dollop.
"Of course, Your Highness," Aly replies. She doesn't spot me lurking; she's completely wrapped up in the make-believe world she's building with my daughter. And God, does it look good on her—this easy rapport, the natural way she fits into the spaces I didn't even know were empty.
"Harlow, remember what I said about too much sweetness?" I finally say, stepping into the room. It feels invasive, like I'm interrupting a private moment.
"Daddy," Harlow sighs, rolling her eyes in the way only a three-year-old can, full of drama and innocence. "It's pretend."
"Right, sorry." I chuckle, but my eyes are on Aly again. She glances up, her gray-blue irises locking onto mine, and I see it—the slightest hint of uncertainty flickering there. Is she sensing my reservations? Or is it her own insecurities reflecting back at me?
"Mr. Fluffles is getting cold," Harlow complains, bringing me back to the present.
"Can't have that," Aly says, reaching over to wrap the stuffed rabbit in a napkin like a shawl.
"Thank you, Miss Aly," Harlow beams, clearly smitten with her new friend.
"Anytime, Harlow," Aly responds, her gaze now firmly on the child before her.
"Anytime" echoes in my head. How easily that word rolls off her tongue, how effortlessly she weaves herself into our lives. But my job isn't to make friends—it's to protect this little girl. And no matter how brightly Aly shines, I can't let my guard down. Not yet.
But as I watch Aly crouch down to Harlow's level, listening to her gentle encouragement as they continue their tea party, I can't help but feel a twinge of something unexpected. Admiration, maybe, or the first hints of trust.
"Tea parties are serious business, aren't they, Harlow?" Aly's voice floats across the room, light and warm.
"Very serious," Harlow confirms solemnly, placing a tiny plastic cup with exaggerated care.
I should be moving on, checking the rest of the house, securing every lock, but I'm rooted to the spot. There's a brightness to her—Aly, that is—that fills the room like sunlight. And despite everything, despite my reservations and the lingering scent of smoke in my nostrils, I can't seem to look away.
Maybe Liam's right. Maybe she's exactly what Harlow needs. But as their laughter filters through to me, light and carefree, I can't shake the feeling that with every chance comes risk—a risk I'm not sure I'm ready to take.