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He walks past my truck, muttering to himself. “Every damn week. I swear to God, if I find out who’s been screwin’ with thatsign, I’ll zip tie their ass to the damn catwalk and draw a cock on their forehead.”

I huff a laugh and roll down my window. “You need help?”

Virgil squints at me. “You offering because you feel guilty or because you’re hoping to score brownie points with the mystery artist?”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

He jerks his chin toward the sign across the parking lot. “You think I don’t see you looking up there every time you walk outta here? You might not know who’s doing it, but youknow. And you like it.”

I open my mouth. Close it. “You’re reading too much into things.”

Virgil snorts. “Kid, I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s got it bad. And you’ve got itrealbad. I’m starting to think you’re deliberately playing like shit just so your secret admirer will keep blowing smoke up your ass.”

He trudges off, mumbling something about needing more zip ties.

And I just sit there, watching the snow fall, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to play it cool…when all I want to do is climb the water tower and scream her name.

Chapter Twenty

Joely

There’s something about my Friday nights that just feel restless—the air heavy with fryer grease, neon glinting off dirty snow, and everyone looking for an excuse to stay out too late. Here, every love story is a little messy, and every secret feels one spilled beer away from being public record. The bar lights burn late, the wind rattles the marquee, and somewhere on the edge of it all, two hearts are trying to figure out if what they’ve got is just a secret fling or the kind of forever that keeps a whole town talking.

Playlist: Burning House by Cam

I step into Power Play and immediately get pelted by the scent of fried onions, spilled beer, and regret. You know. Friday.

Beth doesn’t greet me with her usual “You’re late, but I still love you” glare. Instead, she lifts a cardboard box onto the barand slides it toward me like she’s trying to pass off a cursed object.

“What’s this?” I ask, peeling off my gloves and narrowing my eyes. Nothing good ever starts with a box and Beth’s too-sweet smile.

“Well,” she says, wiping her hands on a towel and sighing like a woman who’s seen too much, “we need a new message on the sign out front.”

I blink. “The sign?” My stomach flips.

She nods, taps the printed sheet taped to the inside flap. “‘My other sons play hockey too.’”

I read it aloud. Then reread it. Then wince.

“Before I get accused of having a favorite son. Again,” she adds with a dramatic sigh, as if she’s already writing her acceptance speech for Longest-Suffering Mother of the Year.

“Beth…” I start.

“I’m used to it,” she says, cutting me off, but her tone’s warm. Wry. Familiar. “And you, Miss Late-Night Acrobat, are used to the cold. So… scamper off.”

“I—what?” I stammer. “What makes you think it was me? Word on the street is Madeline did it. With Harper and Pru. Marketing threesome. From Shep’s mouth to God’s ears.”

Beth arches a brow so high it nearly hits her hairline. “Madeline wears stiletto heels, sweetheart. The woman couldn’t climb a step stool without breaking a hip. And speaking of hips, Pru’s had both of hers replaced. And Harper? She’s underpaid. Too underpaid for physical labor. Let alone an extension ladder, in a snowstorm, to shuffle letters around in minus ten degrees.”

I cross my arms. “I mean, that’s a little dramatic.”

She levels me with a stare. “You want to lie to your surrogate mother? Fine. But know I see all. I hear all. I can read your coaster doodles like they’re the Rosetta Stone. And I’m pretty sure there is a strange smell in the supply closet.”

Busted. Again.

I push the box aside and pretend to busy myself with wiping down the bar. My face is hot, and it has nothing to do with the thermostat being stuck at ‘a few degrees above arctic tundra.’

The guilt simmers, but underneath it, there’s something else. Something almost fizzy. According to Virg, Brogan saw the sign. And he loved it. That glow in his eyes when he bursts through the bar tonight? That will be for me—even if he doesn’t know it yet.