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Chapter Twenty-Two

Emma

T he 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 —become my 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's mine .

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."

For the next hour, we transform the sterile vacant room into a wonderland that would make any book-loving kid's heart sing.

It would also make for the perfect café space, a room perfect for my vision of expanding my brand.

I arrange a cozy reading corner with cushions and blankets in Icehawks colors. Logan assembles the small stage where he'll do story time, his hands surprisingly gentle as he positions each piece of the backdrop we painted last night.

The hot chocolate station gets the full Chapter and Grind treatment, keeping the theme flowing between my two shops, only with a subtle infusion of additional hockey atmosphere for this arrangement.

Vintage copper urns, wooden stirrers carved with tiny hockey sticks, and little paper cups printed with both the Chapter & Grind logo and Icehawks branding.

Today… every detail matters.

Logan catches me adjusting the bookmark display for the fourth time. "You know they're perfect, right?"

"I know, I just—"

"Emma." He steps behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders. "Look around."

I do. And it takes my breath away.

The space looks absolutely magical. Warm and inviting despite the sterile industrial setting, with soft pools of light catching on every carefully arranged detail.

The hand-painted banner reading "Tales from the Ice" hangs perfectly centered above our reading area, the letters shimmering with a touch of silver glitter that catches the light.

The prize table positively sparkles with its treasures—signed hockey pucks nestled in beds of dark green tissue paper, kid-sized jerseys folded perfectly, and custom bookmarks featuring both the Icehawks logo and tiny illustrations.

Every element feels purposeful, like we've carved out a little bubble of literary hockey magic in this concrete box of a room that will soon be transformed into my own vision.

Everything looks... professional. Real.

Like something that belongs here.

"It's beautiful," I whisper.

"You did this," Logan says against my ear. "All of it."

Before I can respond, Sophia's voice cuts through the space.

"Emma! Logan!" I spin around to see her eyes popping. "You guys… This looks incredible!"

She strides toward us in perfectly coordinated business casual, tablet clutched in one manicured hand. Her smile is bright, but I catch something sharper in her eyes. The look of someone keeping score.

"You two have really outdone yourselves," she gushes, walking the perimeter of our setup. "The attention to detail is remarkable. Very... professional."

Logan straightens beside me, and I feel some of his tension transfer to my own shoulders.

"The story time area is particularly charming," Sophia continues. "And I love the integration of both brands: Icehawks and Chapter and Grind. Very smart."

"Thank you," I manage. "We wanted to create something special."

"Well, you've certainly done that." She pauses, her smile growing even brighter. "Well, as you know, you're the front-runners right now. Get everything right today, and that café space is yours to do whatever you want with."

My stomach flips with nervousness.

"Though I should mention, Ryder and Mia have quite the crowd gathering for their pet adoption event. That will be popular with the kids too. And Connor's fire safety demonstration has been drawing families attention as they arrive in the parking lot all morning."

She says it casually, but the message is clear: You're winning, but don't get cocky.

"We'll do our best," Logan says, his voice carefully neutral.

Sophia nods. "Well, good luck. Big Mike and I will be making our final assessment after we've seen all the events. No pressure!"

She laughs as she says it, but the weight of her words settles on my chest like lead.

After she leaves, Logan and I look at each other.

"No pressure, huh?" I say weakly.

"Fuck her and her pressure," Logan mutters grumpily. "You ready for this?"

I take a deep breath, looking around at everything we've built. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Good. Because here come the kids."

And holy shit…

The first wave of children hits like a caffeinated hurricane.

Eight kids ranging from six to ten, all wide-eyed and bouncing with excitement. Their parents follow more cautiously, coffee cups from the main concession in hand, looking like they need at least two more hours of sleep.

"Welcome to Tales from the Ice!" I call out, my café-owner voice kicking in. "Come in! Come in! Hot chocolate for everyone, and then we'll get started with story time!"

The kids immediately swarm the hot chocolate station while their parents hang back, taking photos and trying to corral the more energetic ones.

But as I hand a kid in a Hawks hoodie a marshmallow-topped cup of cocoa, my gaze snags on the parents behind him.

And that’s when I see it again.

A sea of cardboard concession coffee cups. At least five, maybe six of them. Generic. Beige. Branded with the Iron Ridge Arena’s sad little coffee logo in block font that says: we ran out of energy and dignity at the same time.

Oh no .

Not today, Satan.

My smile stays firmly in place, but inside, I go full espresso-fueled war mode.

“Cold out there today, huh?” I chirp to the nearest mom, who’s trying to sip her concession coffee while helping her toddler out of a puffy jacket.

She nods, grateful. “Freezing. We grabbed coffee from the main stand in the lobby. Line was crazy.”

I hum sympathetically, nodding like I haven’t just taken personal offense at the beverage in her hand.

“Oh, totally get it,” I say, adjusting the display of hockey bookmarks without looking. “Long lines and lukewarm drip?"

She lets out a surprised laugh, glancing down at her cup. “Honestly, it’s not great.”

“Well,” I say, keeping my voice light as I duck behind the counter, “I might have something better.”

I come up holding a small stack of individually wrapped sachets I brought today just in case. It's my signature blend, The Hat Trick, ground and sealed with custom labels.

I fan them out like playing cards and offer her one.

“For later,” I say, casual as anything. “My house roast."

Her eyes go wide as she takes it. “Oh wow. This is… really professional.”

“I take coffee seriously,” I say with a wink, then turn to the rest of the group. “Anyone else want a sample to take home?”

It’s subtle, not pushy. Just enough to draw interest without making a scene. To my delight, a few more parents drift closer. I hand out another couple sachets, smiling and chatting like it’s second nature.

Because it is .

This is my zone. My magic.