They reached the front door. The welcome mat read,The McMillans.Paige raised her fist, but before she knocked, she turned and gave Lance one last timid smile.
“Ready?” she asked quietly.
“Ready,” he said, unable to shake the feeling that this was a very big moment in his life.
Knock knock.
Paige's Mom answered the door. Immediately, Lance could see the family resemblance—Mom was shorter, but she had Paige's facial features—the chin, nose and eyes. She looked good for her age, and Lance found himself awfully pleased with the knowledge that Paige's beauty would last.
“Oh, hello! Paige, you brought company?”
“This is my friend, Lance. Lance, this is my Mom.”
“Good gosh, Lance, you're so tall,” Mrs. McMillan laughed, tilting her head back to see up Lance's frame. “Come in, come in.”
Lance bent down and gave Mrs. McMillan a polite peck on the cheek. “Nice to meet you.”
“So what brings you over here?” Mrs. McMillan asked them both.
“Lance is from out of town, but he dropped in on me at work today. I told him I had to pick up Irie, and he came with me.”
“Oh? Where are you from, Lance?”
“Boston,” he said.
Lured by the commotion, Paige's dad entered the room. The men shook hands and greeted each other. “So what do you do in Boston, Lance?”
“I'm an athlete, actually.”
“No kidding? What sport?”
“Hockey.”
“Professional?”
Paige butted in, apparently annoyed by the slow trickle of information. “He plays for the Boston Brawlers, Dad.”
Mr. McMillan's jaw dropped. “Wait. Are you LanceCouture?”
Lance flashed a humble smile. “That's me.”
“Are you here because of the thing yesterday? At the game? With Irie?”
Lance's face twisted with genuine confusion. He shot Paige a look. “What thing?”
Paige interrupted again. “No, Dad. I've known Lance for a couple years.”
“Youhave?” Mrs. McMillan interjected. “Since when do you know a professional hockey player?”
“I just told you! For a couple years!” Paige groaned, sounding like an embarrassed teenager. She grabbed Lance by the elbow. “Would you guys excuse us for a moment? We're going to say hi to Irie.”
Paige led Lance away from her parents and down the hall. Lance's legs felt like jelly, but they carried him forward nonetheless.
“What 'thing' was your dad talking about a second ago?” he whispered to Paige.
“You'll see in a second.”
They entered the living room. Burning logs hissed and popped in the fireplace. Toys were strewn about the floor—including an indoor hockey net, the type of set that Lance had grown up with himself. And there, standing frozen in the middle of the room and silently staring wide-eyed at Lance, was a beautiful little girl.
