Page 116 of Made for Mayhem

Daisy’s face went scarlet, and she busied herself unpacking lemonade and cookies. “Slept great, thanks for asking.”

“Good, good,” Beckett said, grinning right at me. “Love to hear it.”

I kicked his skate. “Focus.”

Junie tugged my sleeve, and I looked down at her. “Can I blow the whistle?”

“Yeah, bug,” I said, handing her the clipboard and whistle. “Call the next drill.”

She scrambled up, standing on the bench. “Triangle regroup! Molly, you’re F1. Juice, F2. Smash, trail but don’t lag—your edges are lazy!”

Delgado saluted. “Yes, Coach Rook.”

They hit the ice, Junie barking orders with the confidence of a kid who’d spent too much time with me at practice over the last few months. Daisy watched, a soft smile tugging at her mouth.

Beckett pointed at Junie. “She’s good for them.”

“She’s good for everyone,” I said.

My best friend leaned against the boards, his focus on Daisy, not the kids on the ice.

Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I couldn’t help staring at her too. Last night was still burned into my skin—Daisy’s hands in my hair, her voice breaking on my name, the way she’d fallen asleep curled against me like she’d always belonged there.

Daisy caught us staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” Beckett and I said at the same time.

She rolled her eyes, but her blush deepened.

Practice rolled on, Junie’s voice echoing over the ice. She corrected Pickles’ stance and praised Molly’s one-timer like a seasoned analyst. The kids ate it up, skating harder and laughing louder.

When the Zamboni rolled out, the team circled up, sweaty and buzzing. Junie stood between Molly and Jace, clipboard clutched to her chest.

“Great work,” I said. “Hydrate, stretch, and⁠—”

“Slice and Spice!” Delgado yelled. “Coach is buying!”

Junie bounced. “I love their garlic knots! And, oh! We can play the trivia machine!”

“I haven’t been there in ages,” Daisy said, arms wrapped around Junie’s shoulders. “Will you share some of your knots with me?”

“Pickles, do you need a ride?” Beckett asked, and the goalie gave him a thumbs-up, heading to the locker room.

Molly nudged Junie’s shoulder. “You owe me a rematch on the hockey trivia.”

Junie grinned bigger than she had in weeks. “Prepare to lose.”

She rushed toward the parking lot while the players went to undress in the locker room. In record time, the kids piled into trucks, sticks clattering, voices loud enough to scare the magpies from the pines. Daisy’s hand found mine as we walked to my truck, fingers lacing as if they’d done it a thousand times.

Junie climbed into the back seat, already quizzing Molly through the open window about power-play statistics.

I started the engine, glancing at Daisy through the open window as she climbed into her car. “Are you sure you’re ready for this mayhem?”

She smiled, soft and certain. “Absolutely.”

Slice and Spice sat on River Street across from Hudson Hardware. The building was painted the shade of a ripe jalapeño, its hand-painted sign swinging crooked above a red door strung with chili-pepper lights. Inside, the air was a glorious clash of oregano and cumin, red-checkered tablecloths bumping up against papel picado banners, and the chalkboard menu boasted “za-cos”—flour tortillas folded over pepperoni and a three-cheese blend with a whisper of salsa, griddled until the cheese bubbled out like molten lava and the edges curled crisp.

“They haven’t changed a thing,” Daisy said, staring up at the mismatched decor, including the life-size statue of a waiter wearing a sombrero.