I rolled my eyes. "Get out of the truck, Beck."
He grinned, grabbing a ridiculously oversized hockey-themed coloring book from his passenger seat. "For the kid. Figured I should make a good impression."
The front door flew open before we could knock.
"Uncle Easton!" Casey launched herself at me, and I caught her with my free arm, laughing. Then her eyes landed on Beck. "Who's that?"
"This is Beck," I said. "Remember? I told you about him. He's—"
"You're Beck Hamilton!" Casey's eyes went wide. "You're Easton's center! You do the faceoff thingy and get him the puck!"
Beck crouched down to her level, grinning. "That's right! And you must be Casey. Easton told me you know more about hockey than half the guys on our team."
"Really?" Casey looked at me, eyes shining.
"Really," I confirmed.
"Can he stay for dinner too?" Casey asked, already grabbing Beck's hand. "Please?"
Palisade appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She looked from the food I carried, at Beck with a coloring book, and finally to Casey bouncing between us.
"You brought a teammate," she murmured.
"Casey's been asking," I said with a shrug. "And Beck's mostly harmless."
"I brought a coloring book," Beck offered, holding it up like a peace offering.
A shadow of a smile passed across Palisade's face. " Easton always brings enough food to feed an army. Come on in the house."
It smelled like something warm and homey inside. Not food, just… life. Casey's backpack dumped by the stairs, her hockeygear drying by the door, a half-finished Lego castle on the coffee table.
It felt real in a way my sterile downtown condo never did.
"How was your day?" I asked as we unpacked the food.
"Long," Palisade admitted, pulling plates from the cabinet. "Three surgeries, two of which ran over, and a golden retriever who thought my stethoscope was a chew toy."
"Sounds eventful."
"That's one word for it." She handed Casey a stack of napkins, her eyes flicking to Beck, who was helping set up the coloring book at the table. "Go set these out, please."
Casey skipped off, and Palisade turned to me, lowering her voice. "A heads-up would have been nice."
"I texted you."
"You texted me 'bringing a friend,' not 'bringing my 6'2" teammate who Casey also worships.'"
"Is that a problem?"
She sighed. "No. Just… surprising." She grabbed the cartons. "He seems nice, at least."
Dinner was chaotic in the best way. Casey dominated the conversation, bouncing between topics like her spelling test, her friend Emma's birthday party this weekend, and whether giraffes could play hockey if they had the right equipment.
"I think you're right about the helmet situation," I said seriously, fighting back a grin. "But they'd have incredible reach for faceoffs."
Casey giggled. "You're funny."
"He's very funny," Palisade agreed, her eyes warm. "Eat your broccoli."
