20
Maria
Standing at the sink in Tuck’s kitchen, I glance at him. “How’s the shoulder?” I ask, my mind instantly flashing back to last night—to the heat of his skin beneath my hands, the slow, deliberate way I worked out every knot while trying very hard not to think about how much I liked touching him.
He rolls it, testing it. “Good. I worked the kinks out at morning skate. Feeling great now.”
A grin tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “Funny. I thought we worked the kinks out last night.” As the words slip out I laugh at myself. Who even am I right now? I’ve never been this…open. This teasing. This aware of my own body, or someone else’s. And yet, standing here with Tuck, it feels natural. Effortless.
His hand comes down in a quick swat against my ass. “Cut it out,” he mutters under his breath. “I can’t be standing here with a hard-on when your mother and Grant are about to walk in.”
Heat rushes up my neck, but I’m still smiling.
He glances at the clock. “What time are they coming again?”
I follow his gaze, then grab for my oven mitts. “Any minute now.”
Right on cue, the doorbell rings. Tuck turns toward the hallway, but I reach out, my fingers on his arm. His stills under my touch. “I really appreciate you doing this,” I say softly. “Opening up your place for Sunday dinner. You didn’t have to.”
His expression softens, a distant look on his face. There’s something there, something quieter. Lonelier. Like us being here means more to him than he’s saying.
“It’s no big deal,” he says, but his voice isn’t as casual as the words. His gaze drifts over the kitchen—the crowded counters, the food, the evidence of a full house. “Besides…” A small smile tugs at his mouth as he taps his rock hard stomach. “Homecooked meal. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Are you sure?” I press, my voice dropping. “Because we’ve kind of taken over. I don’t want you waking up one day resenting it. Resenting us.”
The thud of footsteps starts upstairs, growing louder as the boys barrel toward the front door. Tuck glances down for a second, like he’s choosing his words carefully, then looks back at me. “I like it,” he admits quietly. “The noise. The dinners. The chaos.” His eyes meet mine, something deeper settling there. “Everything.”
Everything.
I press my hand to his forehead and even though his words fill me with something that feels like hope—like maybe he’s not so afraid of my ready-made family anymore, maybe even wants to be a part of it—I tease, “You like the noise? Are you coming down with something?”
His lips twitch, and then he leans in, stealing a quick kiss, fast, but enough to send my heart racing all over again.
The front door swings open down the hall, and my mom’s voice fills the space. “Josh. Come give your grandma a hug. It feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”
She’s not wrong. We’ve been here. Living here, practically. Between work, school, hockey, friends…life hasn’t slowed down long enough to notice how much things have shifted. How much Tuck has stepped in to help.
Mom and Grant used to be the ones I leaned on. The ones who filled in the gaps. Now it’s Tuck. And maybe…maybe I’m not imagining it. Maybe he’s starting to see us as more than temporary. More than convenient. Maybe he wants this.
Wants us.
My stomach knots at the thought, equal parts hope and trepidation. Because I can’t afford to be wrong. I won’t let someone into my boys’ lives—into our lives—if he’s not willing to stay.
A quiet voice in my head warns that I’ve already done that.
I swallow.
God… I have, haven’t I?
But this is different, right? Tuck isn’t just some guy. He’s part of their world. Their team. Their hockey family. That makes it safer. Doesn’t it? I exhale slowly, watching him laugh with my boys, with my mom, like he’s always belonged here. Or rather, we’ve always belonged here.
“Mom, in here,” I call, raising my voice over the clatter of voices as Tuck heads down the hall to greet them.
“Elena, so nice to see you,” I hear him say, his tone warm and easy as I pull the pot roast from the oven, a wave of savory heat rushing up at me. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“You say that now,” Mom replies, her voice carrying that familiar playful confidence. “But wait until you taste it.”
I smile to myself, already knowing she brought one of her pies.
