Page 104 of Made for Mayhem

“I see it, bug,” I said as she waved at the next burst.

The fire pit flickered, reflecting in Daisy’s eyes as she leaned closer, her shoulder pressed to mine. Around us, kids squealed, Mason made exaggerated sound effects, and Tate muttered something about never trusting him again.

A streak of green and white flared in the shape of a heart, and the cheering swelled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tate muttered, trying not to smile.

Stevie popped up a few blankets over, phone held high. “Okay, okay! Before Mason sets something else on fire, I have news!”

“Is this the part where you tell them you married well?” Luke called, juggling a juice pouch and one overtired toddler.

Stevie grinned. “Correct. And also the part where I say my husband is very handsome and very good with his hands. I mean that in all the ways.”

Luke laughed. “I feel seen.”

She cleared her throat, scrolling.

“We have preliminary numbers in from ticket sales, raffles, booth donations, and sponsorships.”

Tate raised a brow. “You already added that up?”

“Of course I did,” Stevie said. “I’m me.”

“Ladies, gentlemen, hockey players, and assorted small children… as of an hour ago, the Linwood Summer Carnival has raised”—she paused as Mason started a drumroll—“one hundred and forty-two thousand dollars!”

The group erupted.

Beckett whistled. Mason whooped. Tate just stared.

“You’re kidding,” she said.

“Not even a little,” Stevie said. “Every penny goes straight into the rink expansion fund—and thanks to these guys, the sponsorships are still rolling in.”

“Holy—” Tate cut herself off, glancing at the kids. “That’s unreal.”

Stevie’s grin softened as she looked across the circle.

“And none of this would’ve been possible without the woman who made it happen—our very own marketing director, and the newest member of the Moms of Mayhem.”

Applause broke out. Daisy laughed, hands pressed to her face. Junie hugged her tighter.

I leaned in and kissed Daisy’s temple. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

Another firework burst overhead, gold light flashing across Daisy’s face. Her grin was the same as three years ago—the kind that hid nothing.

Eventually, the fireworks faded into smoke and stars. Chairs folded. Kids yawned. The fire pit dimmed as the flame was turned down.

Junie was half asleep in Daisy’s arms, her head lolling against her chest, the stuffed cow drooping beside them.

Mason and Beckett argued about hauling the fire pit back to the truck. Tate and Emmy rolled their eyes. Stevie corralled her kids while Lori and Shannon chuckled on their blanket.

It was perfect. Quiet. Enough.

Until Mikko walked back across the field.

Even in the dark, he looked off—shoulders tight, jaw locked, firelight carving harsh lines across his face.

“About time,” Mason called. “You missed the show.”