Page 23 of Slap Shot Daddies

Kenzie pauses just inside the entryway, her eyes sweeping over the living room.

It’s a reasonably nice house, spacious, modern, and practical, but it unmistakably bears the mark of three grown men living in it without a keen eye for interior design.

The living room is dominated by a massive sectional couch, its dark fabric contrasting with the sleek yet unadorned coffeetable in front of it. An enormous flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall, commanding attention.

The walls are barren, devoid of pictures, art, or any form of decoration. The only indication that people actually inhabit this space is the small collection of empty water bottles and protein bar wrappers scattered carelessly on the side table, a testament to the casual, lived-in feel.

Kenzie raises an eyebrow and turns towards us, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “This is…very minimalistic,” she comments.

I sink into the couch beside her, a smirk playing on my lips. “Aye, well, we’re function over fashion kind of guys,” I quip.

Braden joins us, sprawling out comfortably beside her. “What, you were expecting some Pinterest-perfect home with matching throw pillows and scented candles?” he teases.

Kenzie grins, a playful glint in her eyes. “I don’t know…a plant maybe? Something that makes it look like actual humans live here?” she suggests, her gaze sweeping the room once more.

Before we can reply, a rich, mouthwatering aroma of garlic and butter drifts in from the kitchen, causing my stomach to rumble in anticipation.

“What brand of Alfredo sauce do you guys use?” Kenzie inquires.

From the kitchen, Ambrose scoffs, his voice carrying a hint of mock offense. “Store bought? Hell no, I’m making it from scratch.”

Kenzie’s mouth drops open in surprise. “A man who cooks from scratch? This I gotta see,” she exclaims, her interest clearly piqued by the unexpected revelation.

I smirk at her reaction. “Told you,lass. There’s more to Ambrose than meets the eye.”

She whistles, clearly impressed, and settles back against the couch.

Braden nudges her lightly. “So, what do you do for fun, vet girl? I know you wrangle angry macaws for a living, but what else?

Kenzie’s eyes light up. “Honestly? I’ve always wanted to travel more. Backpack across Europe, maybe run a few half-marathons in places I’ve always wanted to visit. But you know…life gets in the way.

Braden whistles low. “Backpacking and running? Damn, we might have to get you a membership to our club.

Kenzie tilts her head. “Club?

I grin. “Braden’s a backpacker. I run ultra-marathons. And Ambrose, well, he’s the insane one. He does both and writes books about it.”

Kenzie blinks. “Wait, Ambrose writes books?”

Braden laughs. “You should see his house in Grand Forks. The man’s got stacks of books about endurance sports, and his name’s on half of them.”

Kenzie shakes her head, clearly intrigued. “So… hockey’s not his real passion?”

I shrug. “Dunno. Guess you’d have to ask him.”

Braden stretches out, nudging Kenzie’s knee with his own. “Anyway, if you ever decide to get serious about the whole backpacking dream, you’ve got three expert guides right here.”

Kenzie grins, but before she can reply, Ambrose’s voice cuts through from the kitchen. “All right, someone get in here and help.”

Braden and I exchange a look before hopping up. Kenzie follows a beat later, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

The kitchen is enveloped in the rich, creamy aroma of butter, garlic, and parmesan, as Ambrose expertly stirs a simmering pot of sauce on the stove.

The pasta water roils in a vigorous boil, sending plumes of steam skyward to fog the polished stainless steel vent hovering above.

Kenzie leans casually against the counter, her eyes fixed on Ambrose with a look that’s a blend of admiration and amusement, her lips curling into a subtle smile. “I can’t believe you’re actually making this from scratch,” she marvels, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Ambrose, focused on his task, doesn’t lift his gaze as he showers the sauce with a flurry of freshly grated parmesan. “What, you think hockey players just live off protein shakes and meal prep containers?” he quips, humor lacing his words.

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