Then footsteps — two sets, one heavier than the other — and a young man appeared in the kitchen doorway followed closely by a girl who had Soren's eyes and an expression on her face that said she'd been interrupted mid-sentence and hadn't finished her point yet.
I'd last seen Micah when he was nine years old. He'd been small and gap-toothed and had spent most of one team dinner hiding under a table because he was convinced the older kids would put ice down his shirt, which they absolutely would have. Now he was taller than I'd expected and had the quiet watchfulness of someone who'd grown up in a house where paying attention mattered.
Poppy I barely remembered at all. She'd been four, maybe five, a small determined person who had climbed onto Soren's lap during that same dinner and stayed there like she'd staked a claim. She looked like him around the jaw. She was also, judging by the way she walked into the kitchen and immediately clocked me and held the look, going to be an absolute problem for someone someday.
“This is Rook,” Soren said. “Rowan Kincaid. We went to high school together.”
“The hockey captain,” Micah said.
“Yeah.”
“Soren talked about you.” He said it flat, like noting the weather. He extended his hand and I shook it. Firm grip, good eye contact. “Micah.”
“I know. You used to hide under tables.”
Micah stared at me. Then he turned to look at Soren. “You told him that?”
“I didn't have to. You did it in front of everyone.”
“I was nine.”
“The table thing was real,” Soren said, entirely unapologetic, and opened the pizza boxes. “Poppy, this is Rook.”
Poppy was still looking at me. “You're bigger than I thought,” she said.
“Poppy,” Soren said.
“I'm just saying. He's tall.” She looked at the pizza and then back at me. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“He just got here,” Soren said.
“I know. I'm asking if he's staying.” She pulled a slice of pizza from the box without waiting for an answer and turned to Micah. “You owe me five dollars.”
“I haven't done anything,” I said.
“Not you.” She was already heading back toward the hallway. “Micah said Soren hadn't told you about us. I said he had because Soren can't shut up about things he cares about.” She looked at her brother with a grin that was so much his grin it was slightly uncanny. “Five dollars, Micah.”
Micah dug a crumpled bill out of his pocket with the expression of a man who had accepted defeat before the battle started and handed it over. She disappeared down the hallway.
Soren poured two coffees and put one in front of me without asking how I took it, which meant he remembered from years ago that I took it black, and I wasn't going to think too hard about what that meant.
“College Street donuts,” I said, nodding toward the box. “You went early or waited in the line?”
“They had a rough week.” He pushed the box toward Micah. “Chocolate glazed, before you ask.”
“You're the best.” Micah was already opening the box. He took two without ceremony, put them on a plate, and headedback toward the hallway with the textbook tucked under his arm. “Nice to meet you, Rook.”
“You too.”
Then it was just Soren and me in the kitchen, both of us standing on opposite sides of the counter with our coffees, and the pizza getting slightly less warm between us.
“Sometimes pizza and donuts is just the clearest way to say I see you,” he said, pulling a slice out for himself and leaning against the counter. He shrugged, like it was nothing, like loading up on all the right things and carrying them up three flights of stairs was just what you did on a Thursday evening. “Chocolate's for Talia but she's working late.”
“She's not here?”
“Back around nine.” He looked at me over the rim of his mug. “So what's the actual reason you're in the neighbourhood?”
I'd had a version of an answer ready in the truck. The meeting ran long, I was passing through, I wanted to check in. All of it technically accurate, none of it entirely true. I looked at the pizza boxes and the donuts and the chocolate bars and the stack of textbooks and said, “I wanted to see you.”
