“I’m, uh, better at hockey than cooking,” I said, taking a mouthful myself, trying to erase the thought she’d planted in my head.
“That is completely debatable right now,” she said, taking another mouthful.
While we ate, Bianca told me stories about her university roommate who’d tried to make Thanksgiving dinner one year, while I shared with her the story of my rookie year when I’d attempted to make homemade lasagna for the boys.
“You just…assembled it with raw, uncooked pasta?” Bianca asked, giggling.
“Yep, and it wasn’t the ready-to-bake kind. What can I say? I was twenty and stupid.” I shrugged.
“What did your teammates say?”
“Nothing, they were being polite. They just chewed…a lot. Nightly finally asked me if I was trying to invent a new food—lasagna jerky.”
I watched as Bianca dissolved into laughter, the kind that made her eyes water. I loved listening to the sound of her laughter. Actually, I adored making her laugh. When we finished dinner, we attacked the cookies while they were still warm.
“These are perfect,” I said, taking a bite. “You might not cook, but you can bake.”
Bianca licked the chocolate off her fingers, causing me to look away. “It’s about following instructions. Baking isn’t intuitive like cooking. That is where I really struggle with the other.”
“I could teach you if you’d like.”
“Really?”
“Sure, we have months of living together. We can always spend the time we have together productively. Plus, maybe it will keep you from burning our apartment down.”
“Our apartment, huh?” Bianca repeated.
Somewhere between coffee and cookies, between flour fights and our first almost moment, my apartment had shifted from my territory that she’d invaded into something we shared.
“Guess it is. Your father asked me to make it easy on you, after all.” I winked.
We cleaned the kitchen together, falling into an easy and relaxed rhythm. Once we’d finished and put all the dishes away, Bianca turned to me.
“This was nice. I really enjoyed today.”
“It was,” I said, hanging the dishtowel on its hook.
“Well, I should probably hit the shower. I have some reading to do before bed,” Bianca said, watching me.
“Thank you for giving me a second chance after being such an asshole.”
“You weren’t,” she said, pausing. “Okay, well, maybe you were a bit of an asshole.”
“Only a bit?”
Bianca smiled as she made her way toward her room, pausing in the doorway. “Hey, Callahan.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we are doing this. This truce thing. The friendship thing. Or whatever this is.”
“Me too.”
I watched as she disappeared into her bedroom, leaving me alone in the kitchen. My phone buzzed against the counter. It was probably the boys checking in on me, or wanting to talk strategy like we normally did on a Saturday night. I grabbed a glass of water and took it into the living room, where I flopped down on the couch.
As I sat there, I noticed the apartment felt different, warmer. It felt less like the space I was defending and more like somewhere I wanted to be. Bianca’s presence had changed that.
I sat there thinking about our moment at the stove, at how perfectly she’d fit against me and how close I’d come to…kissing my trainer? Kissing my roommate? Kissing my coach’sdaughter. The woman who held my hockey career in her hands if she found out about my shoulder injury.
