Chapter 21
By late afternoon the sun sat low, baking the asphalt until it shimmered. The smell of funnel cake, sunscreen, and melted snow cones hung in the air. The crowd hadn’t thinned once all day—steady from the minute the gates opened—and damn if I wasn’t impressed.
Daisy had pulled it off.
A booth showcasing the expansion plans for the rink sat near the beer garden the Lantern had set up, and it seemed to be the heart of the chaos.
Poster boards with renderings of the second rink and upstairs viewing deck lined the space, a donation box on the table stuffed to the brim with cash and checks.
Beckett, Mason, and Mikko stood nearby, each holding a bottle of water. I crossed the street toward them, wiping sweat from the back of my neck.
“Hell of a turnout,” Beckett said, scanning the crowd. “I’m shocked how many vendors showed up with this little notice, but this is impressive.”
“That’s what happens when you put three NHL players on a flyer,” Mason said. He cupped his hands and yelled, “You’re welcome, Mayhem!”
“Shut the fuck up.” Beckett punched his brother in the stomach, and Mason doubled over.
I scanned the street. “Where’s Junie?”
Beckett nodded toward the booths farther down. “Jace took her to walk around. They were determined to win a bigger teddy bear than the one still sitting in my old room.”
“Good luck. That thing’s the size of a couch.”
Mikko tapped one of the poster boards. “This is impressive,” he said, his Finnish accent barely noticeable after a decade playing hockey in the U.S. “Are these expansion drawings real?”
“Yeah,” Beckett said. “Final schematics. Once financing closes and the permits clear, we’re green-lit.”
“When do you break ground?” Mikko asked.
“Late August,” I answered. “Two new locker rooms, a second rink, upstairs viewing windows, and a kitchen big enough to feed half the county.”
Mikko nodded. “Good. The kids here deserve it.”
“Tate deserves it all,” Mason said.
Beckett groaned. “You’re lucky she didn’t murder you in front of children.”
“But she didn’t,” Mason said, more than a little smug. “Progress.”
Mikko laughed. “Never change.”
Mason nudged him in the ribs. “Speaking of not changing, you big brute. Aren’t you supposed to age? How am I gonna beat you to the puck next season if you keep getting bigger?”
“And faster,” Beckett added.
“When are you heading back to Finland, Mikko?” Mason asked.
“In a few days,” Mikko answered. “I’ll see my parents. Spend time at the lake. Speaking of, how’s Lori doing?”
Beckett’s grin softened at the mention of his mom. “Good. Not much change with her Parkinson’s, but I’m glad to be back in town.”
Mikko nodded. “That’s great. Is Shannon still with her?”
“Yeah,” Beckett said. “But her school schedule is changing soon as she starts her clinical fellowship year in speech pathology. She’s been looking for remote placements she can earn her credits and stay in town, but we’ll see what that looks like.”
“And her dad? No more trouble?”
The three of us turned to look at him.
Mason’s grin spread. “Well, well, well. That sounds a lot like concern.”
Beckett raised a brow. “Sure does, brother. You’ve got a lot of questions about a woman you met once.”
Mikko’s jaw tightened. “She’s a nice person.”
Mason barked out a laugh. “Nice? Shannon Wilder? Buddy, she’s as nice as a grizzly in lip gloss.”
Beckett grinned. “She made a grown man cry at the bake sale an hour ago.”
Mikko shrugged. “He deserved it.”
“How the hell do you know that, man? You were chasing a damn pig for the last hour.”
Beckett elbowed me. “Are you hearing this? I haven’t heard him mention a girl in years. Not after what’s-her-face left him high and dry in Finland a couple of summers ago.”
Mikko’s ears pinked. “Shannon has had a tough life. I want better for her. That’s all.”
“Right,” Mason said, dragging the word out. “You think a game of hide the Finnish sausage would make her feel better, Mikko?”
Beckett shook with laughter, and I shoved Mason in the chest, nearly knocking over a display. “Leave him alone. The man’s been here a day.”
“Exactly,” Mason said. “Chop, chop, buddy. Are you going to make a move?”
“Should I propose?” Mikko asked him. “How bad does it hurt to be rejected, since you’re so good at it?”
Beckett barked a laugh so loud that several people around us turned to stare. I ducked my head, laughing quietly under the brim of my hat.
We talked rink logistics for a while, then drifted down River Street beneath twinkle lights strung through the trees. The air smelled like lemonade and cotton candy, music thumping from the stage. People were everywhere—sticky-fingered, smiling, and happy.
Every vendor had a line, but a crowd formed halfway down the street by a red-and-white striped tent.
Beckett squinted. “What the hell is that?”
Delgado stood at the back, bouncing on his heels. “The date auction! Bidding restarts in five minutes. This is my shot.”
“Date auction?” Beckett echoed. “I forgot Emmy mentioned that. How long has this been happening?”
“Oh, all day, but it’s been guys. Can’t say I blame the ladies for not wanting to participate. I’d choose the bear too.”
“So who are you bidding on?” I asked, jaw already tightening.
We walked closer, and the chatter in my head died off.
Daisy stood right in the middle of the tent with a donation box that read Kiss the Old Rink Goodbye in swirling green marker.
Mason let out a low whistle, his arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, she’s a ten.”
Mikko’s mouth curved, staring at Daisy, and then at me. “Isn’t that—”
“Yep,” Beckett answered, staring right at me. “Sure is.”
My stomach dropped.
Bob, the owner of the Linwood Grocer, tapped the mic, feedback squealing loud enough to make half the crowd wince. “Alright, Mayhem, who’s ready for the next date auction?”
The cheer that followed made something hot twist in my chest.
“This is a wholesome date with our very own Daisy,” Bob continued.
“She’s 27, new to town, and ready to be shown what Linwood is all about.
Like the other auctions, this date is cashed in today at the carnival.
Food, games, maybe the Ferris wheel. No funny business, no pressure, and all proceeds go to the rink expansion project. ”
Daisy leaned into the mic. “I was told this would be low-stress,” she said. “So, I expect to win at Skee-Ball and get my own funnel cake.”
The crowd roared.
I stood utterly still, watching the woman I hadn’t touched in two weeks get introduced like a prize.
Bob lifted the mic again. “Bidding starts at fifty dollars!”
“Fifty!” Delgado shouted, jutting his hand into the air.
I turned. “Smash.”
He grinned. “Hell yeah, fuck yeah, Coach.”
Daisy’s gaze flicked to me, her smile spreading wide.
“Do I hear one hundred?”
“Hundred!” Luka’s voice cut in from the side of the crowd, smug as hell. That punk had worked at the coffee shop for a decade and would flirt with a damn wall.
“One-fifty,” Mikko said, hands still tucked in his jacket pockets.
That did it.
Something snapped in my chest, all the patience I’d clung to evaporating in an instant. I’d kept my distance because she was grieving. Because timing mattered. But watching these assholes bid on her like she was a goddamn raffle basket?
I stepped forward. “Five hundred.”
The crowd went silent, all eyes on me.
Daisy’s head whipped toward me. “Ty—”
“Five hundred!” Bob repeated, eyes wide. “Wow, okay! Do I hear six?”
Delgado blinked. “Coach, come on—”
“Seven hundred,” Luka laughed.
“Two thousand.”
The silence this time was absolute.
Beckett swore. Mason choked.
Bob stared at me. “Oh, wow. Okay. Two thousand dollars. Do I hear $2,100?”
Mikko’s brows lifted. “For charity, right?”
“Careful, buddy,” Beckett answered.
“Twenty-five hundred,” Mikko said after a beat. He stared right at Shannon standing off to the side when he said it, her grey eyes mere slits in her face as she stared right back.
I didn’t hesitate. “Five thousand.”
A ripple went through the crowd. Someone laughed nervously.
Bob cleared his throat. “Five thousand dollars! Do I hear—”
“Ten thousand,” I said, knowing this wasn’t how an auction worked, and not caring at all.
“Sold!” Bob shouted, slamming his gavel down on the podium. “To Ty Hudson for ten thousand dollars!”
Applause exploded around us, but I was already moving.
I rounded the table, caught Daisy’s wrist—firm but careful—and pulled her behind the tent.
“Ty, what the hell are you doing?”
“Winning,” I said, jaw tight.
We disappeared behind the tent, the noise of the carnival muffled but still buzzing in my ears. I released her wrist only to plant my hands on either side of her, caging her against a nearby booth without touching her.
Her chest rose and fell fast. Mine matched it.
“You don’t get to do that,” she said, voice shaking a little. “You don’t get to throw money at me because you’re jealous.”
I leaned in, stopping just short of her mouth. “You don’t get to let half the town bid on you and expect me to be fine with it. This is what Stevie was talking about this morning, wasn’t it? You knew you were signing up for this?”
Her eyes flashed. “You’ve been the one keeping distance.”
“I was trying not to make this harder on you,” I shot back. “But watching someone else take you on a date? That was never going to happen.”
She swallowed. “Truth or dare, Ty.”
My pulse pounded under my skin, heart racing as I inched in closer. “Dare.”
I should have seen it coming, but nothing prepared me for the moment Daisy rose on her toes and dragged my face down to hers. Our lips collided, and every rational thought I’d been holding onto shattered.
My hands tightened in her hair, pulling her closer, her fingers curling into my shirt as if she was afraid I’d stop. Not a chance in hell.
Weeks of restraint burned away in seconds. There was only her, soft and wild and finally mine to touch.