Page 96 of Defensive Desire

She doesn't look entirely convinced, but the café is too busy for her to press the issue. "Well, I'm almost done here. Stick around and maybe we get take out to finish off the last of those bookmarks?"

"Sounds perfect," I say, meaning it.

I find a spot in the corner, nursing my hot chocolate and watching Emma work. The café gradually empties as closing time approaches, until it's just the two of us, Emma wiping down counters while I stack chairs on tables.

Yeah. Maybe there is life after hockey after all.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Emma

The week before Arena Experience Day has blurred into a frenzy of lists, late nights, and endless coffee.

I've barely had time to breathe between designing promotional materials, and handling the sudden influx of customers now that Summit Café's doors remain firmly shut.

Every morning, I wake to find more messages from former Summit regulars asking about my hours, my pastry selection, whether I can accommodate their book clubs.

Thank God Logan has stopped by each night, sometimes just to wordlessly reorganize my chaotic notes or bring dinner when I've forgotten to eat.

We've fallen into bed exhausted each night, his trade rumors hanging in the air between us, unspoken but ever-present.

Now, on the morning of Arena Experience Day, Icehawk Stadium feels like a cathedral of possibility.

I arrive early, my hands shaking with nervous energy as I unlock the temporary café space that could—could—becomemy second home. As the leaders of the Community Outreach Program, Sophia has given Logan and I the prized space to host our set up today, while the other contestants are spread out around the arena.

The stadium itself is eerily quiet, with only the hum of the ice machines and the distant sound of maintenance crews preparing for tonight's exhibition game between Blake's Youth Team and a neighboring town.

When I pop down my bags and look around the vacant café space.. it's bigger than I imagined.

High ceilings that amplify every sound, floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a view of the practice rink, and that industrial-modern aesthetic that somehow manages to feel both intimidating and exciting.

It's perfect. It'smine.

Well, potentially.

If today goes well.

Logan appears behind me carrying what looks like half my café inventory in his arms. Even in his navy Icehawks polo and dark jeans, he still manages to look like he could bench press a small car.

"Where do you want these?" he asks, nodding toward the crates of supplies balanced in his massive hands.

I point toward the corner I've designated as our book nook. "Over there. And Logan? Thank you. For all of this."

He sets everything down carefully, then straightens and pulls me against him. "Hey. We're a team, remember?"

The simple words make my chest tight, but I don't have time to dwell on it because Grandpa Walt shuffles through the entrance wearing his best plaid shirt and looking suspiciously excited about his role as official arena tour guide.

"Well, I'll be damned. This place is something else," he says, craning his neck to take in the soaring ceiling. "Bigger than our whole downtown, I think, Emma."

I laugh, already feeling lighter with him here. "You don't have to stay all day, Grandpa. Just show the parents around when they drop off their kids."

"Are you kidding? I've been waiting forty years to get behind the scenes here." He winks at Logan. "Plus, someone needs to make sure this one doesn't drop you on your ass."

"Grandpa Walt!"

Logan chuckles. "He's got a point. I am pretty clumsy when it comes to the important stuff."

I swat his arm, but I'm grinning. "Both of you, focus. We have work to do."