Of course he will.
He always orders it on Mondays. Says it tastes like something his grandmother back home in Nova Scotia used to make.
Nicklas lifts his mug and takes a long sip of coffee, watching me over the rim. “Same.” He sets it down with a quiet clink. “Think you could slip me a few extra scallops?”
I nudge his shoulder. “Always.”
His grin widens. But I don’t miss the way Tuck’s jaw tightens. The way his eyes follow the easy brush of my hand against Nicklas’s arm.
He probably thinks I’m charmed.
That I’m falling for the rookie’s dimples and swagger.
If he only knew.
If only he understood that Nicklas feels safe because he doesn’t want anything from me, doesn’t need to put on a show. Because the way he looks at me is uncomplicated. Light.
Tuck, on the other hand…nothing about the way he looks at me is light.
I turn before he can read any of that on my face and head into the back. The kitchen smells like cream and thyme and brine from the ocean. I stir the chowder slowly, watching the steam curl upward. Two generous scoops into heavy ceramic bowls. I make sure Nicklas gets his extra scallops. I tear open two fresh rolls, still warm, and plate them beside the butter.
I carry the tray out just as the door bursts open. Cold air rushes in first. Then my boys. They tumble inside in a mess of backpacks and elbows, loud and chaotic and mid-argument.
“I told you that’s not even what happened?—”
“Because you never listen?—”
“Boys.” My voice is calm but edged with warning. “Not here.”
They freeze mid-shove and glance past me, spotting Tuck and Nicklas in the booth. Instantly, their shoulders square, chins lift. They try to look like men. Like they aren’t just two gangly teenagers who still forget to rinse their cereal bowls.
“It’s fine, Mom. It’s just Uncle Tuck and Uncle Nicklas.” Josh gives a casual wave, like he’s not impressed that two NHL players are sitting in the café. It’s sweet, really. The way they’ve folded themselves into this hockey family. Truthfully, they’re both still starstruck. Posters on their walls. Jerseys worn thin.
The kids of the players call the other guys ‘uncle’ because this is a tight knit hockey world. Since my boys are Zoe’s half-brothers, they’ve claimed the right too. Even if technically, I’m not really part of that family.
Not officially.
“Mom, I’m starved,” Josh says, already shrugging off his backpack and unzipping his coat.
Nicklas slides over without hesitation, making room in the booth. “Get in here, man.”
Josh beams, and drops his coat onto the back of his chair.
Tuck, though…Tuck shifts. Just slightly. His shoulders stiffen as Josh squeezes in beside Nicklas. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite name. Discomfort? Awareness?
Maybe it’s the reminder. That I’m not just Maria. I’m a mother—who comes with a family—and that makes him uncomfortable.
“I’m going to call Ari,” Lucas announces loudly, already halfway up the stairs to the apartment before I can respond.
“Don’t yell,” I call after him, but he’s gone.
I set the chowder down in front of Tuck and Nicklas. The steam curls between us, fragrant and warm. Tuck’s hand brushes mine as he reaches for his spoon.
It’s nothing.
It’s everything.
My pulse stutters.
