“I’d love to. I’ll check if I can take that night off and get back to you, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, totally unbothered, already twisting a strand of hair around her finger.
Erin claps her hands. “Alright, anyone who doesn’t help clean up gets stuck with trash duty tomorrow.”
Maya and Sophie groan, scattering into motion. Erin starts collecting plates, and I rise to help without thinking. I’m halfway to the table when I hear David behind me.
“Hey—can you give Declan a ride home? Sophie’s staying over, and he lives pretty close to you.”
I blink, surprised, my stomach fluttering for some reason.
That’s right. He’s not cleared to drive yet.
“Uh, sure. Of course.”
“I can just call a car,” Declan says immediately, already reaching for his phone like that settles it.
“It’s fine,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “I don’t mind.”
He hesitates, then nods once—quiet, resigned.
After dessert, the girls start a movie in the living room, and Erin and David drift toward the kitchen with the last of the cleanup.
Declan stays out on the porch, nursing a beer, his gaze flicking occasionally toward the open door where Sophie’s voice floats out.
I settle beside him on the steps without overthinking it.
The porch light catches the sharp lines of his profile, the quiet tension in his jaw, the soft crease between his brows.
“Nice night,” I say, more for something to fill the quiet.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Been a while since I’ve done something like this. Usually too busy. The only benefit of being injured, I guess.”
We just sit like that for a minute—still and companionable—until David pops his head out the door.
“You know, growing up, Dad would have made us earn dessert with a full round of sprints.”
I grin. “Or backwards crossovers in the driveway. Remember when he made you two practice saucer passes through the tire swing?”
David nods, then grimaces. “I still have nightmares about suicide drills.”
Declan smirks. “He made us earn our Gatorade.”
I grin. “And I always wanted to be in the middle of it. I was such a rink rat.”
Declan chuckles, low. “It’s hard to believe your dad, Coach Blake, finally retired.”
I nod, a soft ache behind my ribs. “Right? I wish he was still here. He moved to California after retiring last year. He swore he'd never shovel snow again.”
I glance at David, and he’s already looking back. We share a brief, quiet look—one that says the reason he moved was more than that. Too many sad memories here after Mom passed five years ago.
Erin calls out, “David, I need a hand with movie snacks!”
He groans good-naturedly and stands. “That’s my cue. You two good to go?”
Declan nods once, slow. “Yeah.”
As David heads back inside, I stand, brushing my hands on my jeans, and he shifts carefully to get up. I offer my arm before he can refuse it.
