Page 4

FOUR

HUDSON

Piper

Hello to my favorite defenseman!

Me

I’m not sure Riley will be happy to hear I’m your favorite, but I’ll take the honors.

What’s up, Little P?

Piper

Are you free tonight?

Me

Is this for a media thing?

Piper

No. It’s more of a personal thing…?

Me

Those dots aren’t ominous at all.

Piper

I don’t know how else to explain it…

Me

I think you’re a nice woman, Piper. I value our friendship, but I really don’t need Liam decking me in the face. I’m going to politely decline your advances. I don’t reciprocate your feelings, and I’m sorry.

Piper

Ew. You think I’m hitting on you?

You’re like my brOTHER, Hudson. My god.

I have an idea I want to run by you. And it doesn’t involve sleeping with you.

Me

You have my attention.

Piper

How did your chef interviews go the other day?

Me

Horribly. The first guy I met suggested I drink carrot juice for every meal. The next one asked if I’m on Tinder because she SWEARS we matched on there last year. Then she told me she lied about her cooking experience. She can’t even make a turkey sandwich.

Piper

Are you on Tinder?

Me

Nope.

Piper

So, you need a break from the search. Come by for dinner. I promise there won’t be any carrot juice.

Me

Sounds better than the ramen I was going to have. Do you need me to bring anything?

Piper

You and a smile is great :)

Me

Now I’m even more concerned…

Piper opens the door to her and Liam’s apartment before I have a chance to knock. She’s always smiling, but this wide grin of hers raises my shackles. I step into the foyer, eying her warily.

“Hi.” She stands on her toes and reaches her arms around my neck, hugging me tight. I saw her four hours ago at practice, but she still gives me a squeeze and a pat before letting me go. “Thanks for coming over.”

“How could I not? Your cryptic messages gave nothing away, so I had to see what you’re being weird about.” I slip off my Nike high-tops and shove them against the wall. “You’re okay, right? I don’t need to grab a lamp and use it as a weapon, do I?”

“I’m fine.”

Piper yanks my arm and tries to drag me forward. I grin at her attempt to move me, because I don’t budge an inch. At six two and almost a foot taller than her, she’s going to have to work harder than that to get me to go anywhere.

“You sure sound fine. The last time I got called to a place where you and Liam both were, it was to sort out the aftermath of your intoxicated nuptials. Did that happen again, Little P? I swear to god if he yelled at you, I’ll put him in his place.”

“You’re sweet. Keep up that nice side of yours.” She beams, and I reluctantly follow her down the hall. I don’t like not knowing what I’m walking into. I hate surprises, and I hate being the center of attention even more. Unease prickles at the base of my neck, but something tells me to fall in step behind her. “I’m so excited about this.”

“What is this , exactly? A kitchen remodel? New curtains? I really do think you should change out the lights over your island.” I sniff and roll my shoulders back. “Whoa. What’s that smell? Did Liam spend the offseason getting better at cooking?”

“Nope.” She stops us in the center of the kitchen and holds out her arms. “Ta-da!”

I glance around. There’s a stack of plates on the marble island and two pans on the stove. I spot a plaid dish towel folded next to the sink and silverware on the counter. Nothing is different from when I was here for pizza night last week, and I’m even more confused.

“Uh.” I frown and scratch my beard. “What am I looking at exactly?”

“Where did she— Madeline ? Are you okay?” she calls out, and my frown turns even deeper.

“Who the hell is Madeline?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

“Did you set me up on a blind date? My shirt has a hole in it, Piper. That’s not how I make a good first impression. And I didn’t bring wine. Flowers. Anything .”

“It’s not a blind date. Give her a second.”

“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 a chef , 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 with you needing help in the kitchen and her needing 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’re the 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?”

“Of sports. Athletes. Teams. You could line up half the Stars players in here with eight other men you found on the street, and I wouldn’t be able to tell you all apart.”

“There are a lot of six-two, two-hundred-pound men wandering around,” I say, and her mouth quirks. “Probably even more over six three.”

“I went to my first hockey event last year. I think they showed you a lot on the Jumbotron.”

“Your first game?” My brain starts running through how this woman fits in with Piper and Liam and what she’s?—

“Wine?” Piper interrupts, holding a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“I’ll take a glass. Last one until next summer, and I might as well go out with some fancy shit you two bought.” I turn and open the cabinet behind me so I can grab a few glasses. “Madeline? Do you want some?”

“Sure.” She clicks off the stove and sets a potholder on the counter. “Perfect timing, because dinner is ready.”

The four of us move around each other, doling out food and handing over silverware. Liam asks if I’ve looked at the preseason lineup Coach is putting together for our first game. Piper and Madeline talk about someone named Lucy, and I wonder if it’s a friend of theirs.

When we settle at the square table to eat, my stomach growls. The rice and beans I threw together at lunch barely held me over during weight training, and I’m bordering on ravenous. I scoop a forkful of curry into my mouth, and it takes everything in me to hold back a moan.

“Holy shit.” I swallow the bite, and I swear there are tears in my eyes. This must be what heaven is like: savory chicken. The touch of heat, and the best damn thing I’ve ever eaten. “You can actually cook. And not just cook. You can cook well .”

Madeline dabs her mouth with a napkin. “You sound surprised.”

“Given the people I’ve met recently tried to pass off Chef Boyardee as homemade ravioli, I’m cautious when it comes to food.” I shovel down another bite and sigh. There’s no need to be cautious about this . It’s perfection. “You said you live in Vegas? How do you and Piper know each other?”

“We met when you all played in Vegas last year—at the event I mentioned,” she clarifies. “She handed out some gear and gave me her business card.” She lifts her glass and takes a sip of wine. “When I was let go from my previous job, I reached out to Piper to see if she knew of any employment opportunities. She mentioned a player—you, I guess—needing a chef, and here we are.”

“The previous job where you were an executive chef? Did the people who let you go not have any tastebuds?” I ask, and she covers up her laugh with another sip of wine.

“It was a management change. We were bought by a company determined to make every restaurant in Vegas a carbon copy of each other with small plates and high prices.”

“So, you need a new job.”

“I do. I’ve looked everywhere in Vegas, and I’ve come up short.” Madeline tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and fixes her sweater. I’m still trying to figure out what her tattoo might be. “I didn’t think I’d ever consider jobs on the other side of the country, but here we are.”

“I’m sorry for meddling, but this could be a good opportunity for both of you,” Piper interjects, and I forgot she was here. “I figured you all could meet, and if you got along, you could talk about an interview or next steps.”

“Interview. Yes. That.” I nod and dig into the rice on my plate. I’m sure I look like a savage, but I don’t care. “How long are you in town? Are you free next week to get together?”

“Really? You want to interview me? You barely know me,” Madeline says. “I could’ve poisoned the food.”

I snort. I like her sarcasm. “Don’t care. This will be a good way to go.”

“You’re the pro athlete with the busy schedule. What day works best for you?”

“Monday? At noon?”

“Sounds great,” she says with another smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

We pass the rest of the meal with easy conversation and more wine. I’m used to doing things with my teammates in settings where it’s loud and chaotic, and I like how quiet this is. How I can jump in and out of conversations while we eat.

When we’re finished with our food, I’m the first to stand. I gather the empty plates and stack them on top of each other. I add the silverware and shove my chair out of the way.

“I can do that,” Madeline says, grabbing a knife and a fork.

“Nope,” I say. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”

“I made the mess.”

I take the fork from her grasp and head for the kitchen with footsteps trailing behind me. “My mom always told me the person who cooks is the person who gets a pass on cleaning up. I didn’t lift a finger tonight, so this is my job. I got it.”

“I don’t mind. Really.”

“Nope.” I hum, setting all the dirty dishes in the sink. “Save your energy for your interview next week.”

“Fine.” Madeline leans against the counter at my side and adjusts the neckline of her sweater. That damn tattoo is teasing me. “I’m glad the poison didn’t take this time. Are you sure you want me to try again on Monday?”

“Yeah.” Our gazes meet, and I grin. “I want you to give it your best shot.”