Page 72 of Hockey Nanny

He took in the scene in one glance. The flour on Boone’s shirt. The bowl tilted precariously. My hands braced on the counter, still smiling.

“What’s the emergency?” he asked.

“Boone is actively sabotaging Henry’s pancakes,” I said. “I need backup.”

Gage huffed a laugh and leaned against the counter. “He’s teachable. Most hopeless cases are.”

“Hey,” Boone protested, stirring harder out of spite. “I heard that.”

I watched them with a fondness that surprised me in its depth. There was no awkwardness. No tension. Just an easy, domestic rhythm that made me ache in the best way. I put them to work without ceremony, handing Boone a measuring cup and Gage a cutting board, assigning tasks like I’d always belonged at the center of this kitchen with these men orbiting me.

They were unruly. They joked around. Boone flicked a blueberry at Gage, who caught it without looking and popped it into his mouth. Gage bumped my hip as he passed, his hand dropping to my ass and giving it a squeeze. Every small touch sent warmth skittering through me.

For a while, it was perfect.

Then Gage glanced down the hallway, brow furrowing just slightly. “Where the hell is Dawson?”

The question landed heavier than it should have.

I felt myself still, whisk pausing mid-air as my ears strained for sounds that weren’t there. No footsteps. No low voice. No presence anchoring the space the way he always did. My stomach dipped, that earlier warmth cooling just a fraction.

“I don’t know,” Boone said easily. “Saw him heading out early this morning. Didn’t say where.”

Oh.

I forced a smile and went back to the stove, flipping the first pancake with a little too much focus. Maybe he just needed air. Space. Dawson was like that sometimes. Solid, dependable, but private in the way he processed things. Still, the question gnawed at me, unwelcome and persistent.

Was last night too much?

The men kept talking and laughing, the kitchen alive with sound, but part of me had already wandered down the hallway, searching for a sign I’d missed. I tried to shake it off, to stay in the moment, but the absence lingered like a shadow at the edge of my vision.

I wanted to believe it was nothing.

I wanted to believe he’d be back any minute.

But as I poured another pancake into the pan, that sinking feeling settled deeper, whispering doubts I wished didn’t exist.

I took out the plates and set them onto the table when Boone drifted back into my space like he’d been circling the thought for a while.

“Soooo,” he drawled, leaning his hip against the counter beside me, voice stretched long and lazy. “Be honest. Who’s the best in bed?”

I nearly dropped my spatula.

Heat rushed straight to my face, fast and unforgiving, and Boone laughed immediately, delighted by the reaction. Gage froze mid-pour with the orange juice, his head snapping up, eyes narrowing like he was deciding whether to murder Boone now or later.

“Jesus,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “You really don’t have an off switch, do you?”

“Not even a little,” Boone said proudly. “But come on. We’ve all been thinking it.”

Gage snorted. “No, Boone. That’s you. That’s always you.”

I set the spatula down carefully, needing my hands free because my pulse was suddenly everywhere. Maybe it was inevitable we’d talk about it. Last night hadn’t been a fluke or a drunken accident. It had been intentional, charged, emotional in ways I was still unpacking. Letting it sit unspoken felt like stacking unstable dishes and pretending gravity wasn’t real.

“Okay,” I said slowly, meeting Boone’s gaze. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it like adults.”

Boone’s grin softened just a notch. “I can do adult. Sometimes.”

“I don’t want to play with anyone’s feelings,” I said, the words grounding me as I spoke them. “I care about both of you. Really, I do. And I’m attracted to both of you, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. But I won’t pit you against each other or pretend this is some joke.”