Page 23 of Stuck with my Guarded MVP
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’tlooklike 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."
