Page 11 of Slap Shot

“Sorry.” A soft voice floats through the room, and it’s one I don’t recognize. “I had to grab extra napkins. I made a mess.”

I blink, and a tall brunette walks into the kitchen with purposeful strides. When she looks up from the stack of napkins she’s holding, she stops in her tracks. Her eyes meet mine, and I swallow.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hello,” she answers, and I take a good look at her.

I swear I haven’t seen her before. I’d remember her if I did. There’s a blue apron tied around her waist. Her dark hair is long and falls halfway down her back. A dusting of freckles sits on the bridge of her nose, and her eyes are brown, big and wide. She’s shorter than me, probably five seven or so, with curves like an hourglass.

Whoever she is, she seems relaxed in her leggings and high socks. The pink sweater she’s wearing slips off her shoulder and shows off creamy skin and the tease of a tattoo just below her collarbone.

“I’m Hudson.”

“Hudson.” She wrinkles her nose and puts a hand on her hip. The sauce stain on her apron matches the smudge on her fingers, and my lips twitch at her confusion. “Are you a friend of Piper’s?”

I’m used to people knowing who I am, and this is a nice change of pace.

I don’t have to be Hudson Hayes, the NHL superstar.

I can be Hudson Hayes, the dog dad who goes to bed at nine every night and prefers to stay out of the limelight.

“A friend,” I repeat, rolling with this version of myself. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“I’m Madeline Galloway.” She wipes her hands on her apron and holds one out. I wrap my fingers around hers, not surprised to find her palm smooth and warm. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Madeline is in town for a few days and staying with us,” Piper says casually, but I can pick out the hint of a scheme under her words. “And guess what? She’s achef, which is something you’re currently lacking, right?”

I take a step back and lean against the counter. I fold my arms across my chest and nod. “I am.”

Madeline turns her back on our conversation to stir whatever is bubbling in the pan on the stove. “I was the executive chef at an upmarket restaurant in Las Vegas until recently.”

“Executive chef? That sounds important.”

She looks at me over her shoulder with a proud grin. “It is.”

“It was a Michelin-starred restaurant,” Piper interjects, and I catch Madeline’s cheeks reddening. “Now she’s looking for employment. I thought withyouneeding help in the kitchen andherneeding a job, you two could get to know each other. If you get along, maybe you could set up an interview.” Piper gives me a sheepish look before she continues. “I mean, how wild is it that she’s here when you are?”

“What are the chances?” I draw out, knowing a setup when I see it.

“She made us grilled cheese and tomato soup last night, and it was delicious,” Piper says.

“Delicious is an understatement,” another voice adds, and Liam joins us in the kitchen. He’s changed out of the pads and gear he had on when I saw him earlier at morning skate, and his dark hair is wet from a shower. “And you know it takes a lot for me to say that.”

“I do know that. I thought you were allergic to compliments.” I shift my attention back to Madeline. She’s juggling three different tasks at the same time without batting an eye. I swear I saw her spin a knife in her hand ten seconds ago without cutting herself, and I kind of want her to do it again. “Have you ever cooked for a professional athlete before?”

Her head whips around. Her eyes roam down my shirt then back up, and her mouth parts slightly.

“Oh,you’rethe professional athlete?” she asks. “This makes more sense.”

“Uh, yeah? I play for the DC Stars,” I say.

“That’s right. You’re the blond one.”

“Thank you?”

“Sorry. I’m not a fan, to be honest.”

“Of blond hair?”

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