Tiny Terrors win 3-1. Natalia is ecstatic, bouncing up and down.
"Ice cream?" she asks hopefully. "To celebrate? We have five different flavors at home."
I look at Sophie, who's reviewing photos on her camera. "Want to join us?"
"Oh, I don't want to intrude on family time..."
"Please?" Natalia gives her best puppy eyes. "You can show me the pictures! And tell me if my form was good! And…"
"Okay, okay!" Sophie laughs. "Lead the way, captain."
Which is how I end up with a reporter and a sugar-high nine-year-old in my kitchen at nine p.m., debating the merits of different ice cream toppings.
"Sprinkles are clearly superior," Natalia argues, adding approximately half a jar to her sundae.
"Chocolate sauce is absolutely essential," Sophie counters, demonstrating with her own bowl.
"You're both wrong," I say, reaching past Sophie for the caramel. "Caramel sauce is the only correct answer."
"That's because you're old and boring," Natalia informs me solemnly.
Sophie nearly chokes on her ice cream.
This is all domestic in a way that should probably worry me but doesn't. Sophie fits here, perched on my kitchen counter, while Natalia shows her every single hockey card she owns. She knows when to ooh and ahh over rare cards, when to ask questions about players, and when to share her own stories about watching them play.
By the time I manage to get Natalia to bed, it's way past her bedtime but she's happy. That's worth the battle I'll have getting her up for school tomorrow.
I head back to the kitchen to find Sophie loading the dishwasher.
"You don't have to do that."
"Pretty sure I'm partly responsible for the sprinkle explosion." She rinses a bowl. "Besides, it's the least I can do after you let me crash family ice cream night."
"You didn't crash anything." I move to help her, reaching around her for a dish towel. "Natalia loves having you around."
She goes still as I lean past her, and suddenly I'm very aware of how close we are. Of how she fits perfectly between me and the counter. Of how she smells like vanilla and chocolate sauce and sprinkles…
"Just Natalia?" she asks softly.
I should step back. Should remember all the reasons this is a bad idea.
Instead, I find myself turning her slowly to face me.
"No," I say roughly. "Not just Natalia."
She looks up at me, eyes wide and dark. "Evan..."
I don't know who moves first. All I know is one moment we're staring at each other, and the next, my hands are in her hair and her lips are on mine, and everything else just...stops.
She makes a soft sound against my mouth, her hands grabbing my shirt to pull me closer. She tastes so good, and when she runs her tongue along my bottom lip, I groan.
"Sophie." I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers. "We should..."
"Stop?" She sounds as breathless as I feel.
"Probably."
"Right." But her hands are still in my shirt, and she's looking at my mouth, and...