“God, I hope not.”
Meadow suddenly barrels past, nearly taking out my knee.
“Sorry, Uncle Hutchy!” she yells, already sprinting off toward her grandmother in the far corner.
Noah skids to a stop in front of me, craning around to see the bar I’m blocking. “Dad said I can have another soda.”
“Your dad said that, huh?”
“Yes.” Noah grins, suspicion written all over him.
“Then you better ask him again,” I tell him. “Louder, this time.”
“Dad!” he shouts, sprinting off toward Jake, who looks like he might cry just from being called Dad again by his stepson.
Theo sees me and toddles over, planting himself directly in front of me, staring up as though he’s considering climbing.
“Hut!” He lifts his eyebrows and raises his little arms, fingers flexing. “Up!”
I sigh and lift him high with one arm, and he immediately giggles as he looks out over the crowd from his new vantage point. He settles against me, small and snuggly and warm, gripping the collar of my shirt with his pudgy fist.
Charlie glances over, softening. “You’re his favorite, you know.”
“That’s just bad instincts.”
Lulu slides in beside me, signaling the bartender for another glass of champagne. While she waits, she scans me over once, tilting her head.
“You’d be such a good dad, Hutch.”
I scoff. “Let’s not curse some poor kid with me.”
She just rolls her eyes, receives her flute, and sashays back toward Logan.
Charlie’s brother, Matt, who has come over from New Zealand, wanders over with two beers in hand and offers one to Viktor. “You look like a man who could use a refill.”
Viktor considers him. “Correct.”
They clink bottles, and Charlie’s parents drift closer, her mom still teary-eyed from earlier, and her dad smiling like he’s holding something fragile together.
“This is exactly what she wanted,” her mom says to no one in particular. “Simple and no nonsense.”
Jake overhears and nods, reaching to take Theo from me. “She told me if I even suggested a seating chart, she’d leave me.”
A couple of Charlie’s friends, both with unmistakable Kiwi accents, end up beside me a minute later. It’d be easy conversation—for someone else.
One of them hums a laugh and touches my arm.
“You’re Reid, right?” Her eyes are already scanning down my torso. “The goalie?”
I nod, polite but clipped. “That’s me.”
“Heard you’re the one with the big… save percentage.” She laughs at her own joke, biting her lip.
I feel it, register the flirtation, but that’s where it stops. There’s no spark and definitely no urge to lean in or keep it going.
I give her a half smile. “All true.”
“You dance?”
