Page 94 of Made for Mayhem

Luckily, it was working.

River Street had transformed overnight—tents, food trucks, game booths, and a makeshift stage sprouting up as if someone had waved a magic wand.

I’d barely finished tying down the last corner of a banner when a breeze lifted it back up, slapping me in the face. Somewhere behind me, a deep laugh rumbled, and instantly I warmed at the sound.

“Need a hand?”

Ty stood there in a ball cap and a green T-shirt, arms crossed and wearing a smug grin.

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “Always coming in with the savior complex.”

“For you?” he said, those hazel eyes alight with mischief. “Yes.”

I climbed down from the ladder, letting Ty take my place. “What’s Junie up to this morning?”

“She’s at Emmy’s, working on a secret project with Jace,” Ty said, reaching up to retie the banner for me. His biceps flexed with every pull, the cotton of his shirt stretching in all the right ways. But my attention caught on those damn shorts.

“Are you intentionally doing this to me?”

Ty glanced down, all fake innocence. “Doing what?”

“That.” I pointed to his shorts and the black ink peeking from beneath them. “Hoochie daddy shorts. I swear, every pair you wear is shorter than the last ones. Are you trying to catch a hockey mom today?”

He laughed, the sound deep and easy, then hopped down off the ladder to stand over me. “Don’t worry, Daisy. I don’t care about their attention.”

My belly swooped, heat washing over me. “No?”

His lips tugged into a mischievous grin. “Just yours.”

The world tilted, a dizzying mix of heat and nerves and something I wasn’t ready to name.

Ty turned back to the banner and left me standing there, completely undone by a man in too-short shorts and a grin that said he knew it.

I was still trying to remember how to breathe when a voice broke through the haze.

“Found you!”

Stevie strode up the street, clipboard in hand. She was decked out head-to-toe in Mayhem Hockey Club gear—logo tee knotted at the waist, denim shorts, and green sneakers to match.

“We’ve officially sold out of advance tickets,” she beamed. “Over fifteen hundred sold online, and people are still lining up at the gate. Between sponsors, bake-off entries, and vendor fees, we’re sitting right around fifty thousand dollars raised, and the day’s just getting started.”

“Fifty thousand?” I blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Turns out your marketing campaign hit the Vail Valley crowd just right. Half these people drove in from the resorts looking for that ‘small-town charm,’” she said, using air quotes. “Which apparently means bounce houses, corn dogs, and questionable parking. The gates open in five minutes.”

“And you.” Stevie pointed at Ty, who turned around to look at us. “I don’t know what favors you called in, but there is a large donation from the Chicago Storm Youth Foundation, so thank you for that.”

I beamed up at him. “We’ll take it.”

“Hell yeah, we will,” she said. “This is great.”

Before I could respond, Ty adjusted the brim of his cap. “So where do you need us?”

“Good question.” Stevie scanned her notes. “You’re scheduled to get the Mayhem kids started at the street hockey shootout, then head to the hardware store.”

He groaned. “For that petting-zoo nonsense?”

“Yup,” she said, all cheer. “Uno and Piggie Smalls are the main attraction. Plus, someone dropped off a few goats this morning. I’m not quite clear if this was a donation to you, or if someone is coming to claim them at the end of the night? So that will be a fun little surprise for us all.”