“It’s okay, they kiss all the time,” Lucy whispers back, and I feel his lips turn into a smile.
So do mine.
Lucy is tucked against Lenzin and Hank on the couch, her legs stretched across his lap while he holds the remote in one hand. The broadcast is replaying LA’s last game, the analysts breaking down plays while Lenzin pauses every few seconds to rewind something.
Studying plays, even on a Saturday morning.
Lucy doesn’t really care about the analysis, but she loves watching the skating.
“That one fell,” she narrates as a player loses an edge.
“He got pushed,” Lenzin corrects gently.
“Sure did.” Hank chuckles.
“Oh.” She says as I walk over and sit in the chair that I love, it’s oversized, and I can curl up with my laptop and edit, which is hard when I am so wrapped up in Noelle’s stories that are equal parts steam and humor,a true escape.
I glance over after a page and see Lenzin is absently braiding a small section of Lucy’s hair while watching the screen. My heart stutters at how adorable it is.
Turning my gaze to the laptop, I see Hank smiling, and I shake my head and sigh as I look down at the work in front of me, which doesn’t feel like work at all.
Three hours fly by, especially when you fall asleep in a chair, surrounded by people who have softened your hardened heart.
I look toward the kitchen where Lenzin is ladling chicken noodle soup into bowls, sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy from Lucy’s fingers, like he’s been in Dad-mode all morning—which he has.
Hank leans dramatically against the counter, holding a sheet of paper like it’s the Declaration of Independence.
He clears his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, presenting…Hildy’s Game Day Chicken Noodle Soup.”
Lenzin shoots him a warning look. Hank ignores him entirely.
“Inspired by love and motherhood, surrounded by elite-level defensemen, and the burning need to feed growing children and grown men who skate for a living.”
I can’t help but smile.
“One yellow onion, chopped. Three carrots. Celery, garlic. Turmeric for mystery, thyme for love, and broth for the soul.”
Not my words, but I like them.
Lucy peeks around the corner. “Don’t forget the noodles!”
“I was getting there!” Hank says, insulted, and she giggles. “Whole wheat noodles. For your tiny, developing hockey legs.”
Lenzin hands him a bowl with just enough of a shake of his head to admit he’s amused.
“You forgot the part where Mommy says if they win, they get soup. And if they lose, they still get soup. But with extra garlic and a side eye,” Lucy adds with a solemn nod.
Hank gasps, hand over his chest. “You little genius.”
I walk into the kitchen, stealing a piece of garlic bread from the tray. “That’s a new secret family recipe.”
Hank winks, “Good thing I’m family.”
“We’re all family!” Lucy exclaims.
Lenzin winks at her. “That we are.”
“This is a culinary experience. This is soul food with a blocked slapshot.” Hank says, spooning up another bite.
