Page 42
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emma
B ig Mike and the board said it would take months for this café to feel like home.
That it would be overwhelming, demanding and physically tough launching a new café during hockey season.
But here I am, standing behind this counter, wearing a custom apron that reads:
“I Like My Coffee Like My Hockey: Strong, Hot & A Little Bit Aggressive.”
Logan had it made for me especially for tonight. Opening night of the new season.
The Nest & Grind is buzzing with Opening Night energy as hockey fans flock the arena. The final touches to the renovations were completed yesterday, with Logan's help of course.
The walls are lined with exposed brick and warm wood paneling, dotted with team memorabilia, vintage hockey posters, and literary quotes that were stuck on the wall by the kids who've swarmed the space ever since I opened the doors.
A stack of “Opening Night Mochas” steams beside me. A special blend, just for today. Dark roast, maple-syrup drizzle, and a chocolate puck cookie balanced on top like a victory hat trick.
I smile as I glance at the perfect shelves Logan has put up, all lined with boxes upon boxes of my own coffee blends, individually packed and ready for customers to purchase and take home.
“Order for Ryder!” I call, waving a drink in the air. “One hot Mocha for Mia, extra foam, extra cinnamon, extra charm.”
Ryder jogs over in full game-day gear, pads creaking, Icehawks jersey half-tucked, eyeing the coffee like it might bite.
“This foam’s looking a little aggressive, Em. Mia likes it smooth." He grins as I raise an eyebrow at him. “What? I just want it to be perfect for her.”
I wink as I hand it over.
“It is perfect. Trust me. It's slightly inflated, just like your ego. But hey, Mia still finds that perfectly acceptable, doesn't she?”
He mock-gasps and jogs off, shouting back, “Fine. But I’m telling Mia you said that!”
Behind me, chaos reigns supreme in the form of Lucy and Ethan, who have appointed themselves “Manager” and “Manager’s Manager,” respectively.
They've been taste-testing the pastry display since 9 a.m. and are currently arguing about the proper definition of a croissant.
I survey the pastries with a critical eye. The cinnamon rolls with their perfect swirls, the scones dotted with fresh berries, the croissants with their honeycomb interior that took me seventeen attempts to perfect.
Clara would be proud, I think.
I've spent countless late nights in Chapter & Grind's kitchen this week, flour in my hair and determination in my heart, knowing that with Summit Café gone, I'm the only coffee shop and bakery in town now.
And I won't mess it up.
“I’m just saying,” Ethan says around a mouthful of almond danish. "If it doesn’t crackle like a scroll, is it even worth eating?”
Lucy scoffs. “You think everything’s supposed to sound like a book. This is a café , not a medieval library.”
I tune them out, sliding a freshly pulled espresso across to a fan wearing a jersey with KANE 14 on the back.
God, this. This is everything. The crowd. The laughter. The smell of maple and coffee and freshly cleaned ice drifting in through the glass wall.
I glance out toward the rink, where fans are still pouring in through the main gate. The lights over the ice shimmer, bouncing off the newly painted logo at center. The atmosphere tonight is insane.
I think I'm going to enjoy working here every gameday.
And suddenly it hits me… I’m not waiting anymore.
I’m here . This is happening.
I’m no longer hoping for the dream.
I’m living it.
“Hey you.” A voice cuts through the happy din.
I turn to find Sophia, clipboard in hand, lipstick too perfect for someone who’s been yelling all morning. She gives me a once-over and smirks.
“You ready?”
I blink. “For the line rush? Already got a double batch of mochas queued.”
She smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that means she knows something I don’t.
“I meant… for what comes next.”
I narrow my eyes. “ O-kay … You’ve got that matchmaking tone again.”
Before she can respond, the arena lights dim through the window. The blaring music cuts. And the PA system comes to life with the voice of the announcer:
“Good evening, Icehawks! Ladies and gentlemen, before we begin… please welcome to center ice… LOGAN KANE!”
My breath catches.
I lean forward against the counter, pressing both hands to the wood as cheers erupt through the arena like thunder. The lights shift, spotlighting the center of the rink and right down at the side of the boards, there he is.
Logan.
In a fitted gray suit, his old Icehawks jersey slung casually over one shoulder, that ridiculous, perfect smirk on his face as the crowd roars around The Nest.
He raises one hand to wave, looking up into the rafters as flags, scarves and banners get hoisted into the air. Fans simultaneously losing their shit at their retired hero.
I can't help but cup my mouth, a laugh escaping as I watch the scene down on the ice unfold before my eyes.
A group of girls two rows back start chanting Logan's name like a boy band’s in town, and soon, the entire arena is joining in.
I stay frozen behind the counter, heart thudding against my ribs.
The crowd noise swells like a wave as Logan steps onto the ice, his boots echoing in the hush between chants. The spotlight follows him, cutting through the arena glow until he’s center stage, center ice, center everything.
He looks… ridiculous.
And perfect.
Charcoal-gray suit tailored within an inch of its life. His old Icehawks jersey slung over one shoulder like it’s just a casual fashion accessory and not a retirement symbol about to shatter hearts across Iron Ridge.
His hair’s a little messy, just like it has been every game day since he arrived here all those years ago. There’s a familiar smug smirk curving his mouth like he knows exactly what he's doing to the entire female population right now.
He lifts a hand to accept the applause.
The crowd erupts.
“KANE! KANE! KANE!”
Signs bounce. More teens wave glittery posters with slogans like Stick With Logan Forever and You Can Check Me Anytime. A toddler wearing a miniature Icehawks jersey lifts a foam finger nearly the size of his whole body.
Along the bench, the team taps their sticks in rhythm.
Coach Brody stands arms folded, flanked by Blake and Connor, all three nodding like proud dads who just watched their troublemaking son graduate without getting arrested.
Logan takes the mic from the announcer, spinning it once in his palm.
He waits, letting the crowd quiet just enough.
“Wow. Thank you. Really, that was… amazing,” he starts, and the arena immediately leans in. "I wasn’t planning to do this today, but here we are."
Silence grips the arena, every set of eyes locked on the man who's made all my dreams come to life.
“This ice… this team… this town… it gave me everything.” The crowd cheers again. Logan smiles. "You all gave me a purpose. A family. A place where I finally belonged when I thought I'd never find one."
Polite applause scatters around us.
“But then… something else happened.” He pauses, eyes scanning the stands before landing straight through the glass… on me. “Love gave me something better. It gave me a reason to stop. To stop and take another look around at the world beyond hockey.”
I clutch the edge of the café counter like it’s the only thing anchoring me to the Earth.
“You see… I’ve been playing hockey since I was old enough to walk. And if you asked me after I lifted that Stanley Cup last season if I would ever give it up? I would have laughed in your face."
The crowd chuckles too.
"I thought playing hockey would be what I’d do until my knees gave out.
Or until someone had to push me off the ice in a wheelchair.
But then I met someone who made me realize there’s a different kind of game worth playing.
One where the prize is a life. A home. A love so ridiculous and sweet and stubborn it makes me want to be better every single day. ”
Oh. My. God.
“So know this, Icehawks fans… I didn’t retire because I was tired,” he continues. “I retired because I found something worth slowing down for.”
He turns and gestures up the stands, his gaze landing right through the window, and onto me.
“And that something? She’s right over there, handing out coffee and hot chocolate like it’s her superpower.”
The entire arena turns, the sound of thousands of shuffling feet making the arena vibrate beneath my legs.
The spotlight moves on me.
"Come on down here, baby," Logan says into the microphone.
Before I can duck behind the pastry case, Lucy bursts through the café door, grabbing one of my arms, while Sophia screeches, “SHOWTIME!” and grabs the other.
“I am not —ohmygod—no!” I hiss, digging in my heels. “I’m not wearing skates! I’m wearing wedges! ”
“You’re wearing a legacy, babe,” Sophia beams.
“You’re wearing cake batter in your hair , ” Lucy adds cheerfully.
They drag me out anyway. Onto the ice and into the spotlight that shines so bright every damn Icehawks fan can see how red my cheeks are right now.
Logan’s already holding out a hand, grinning like he just won the Stanley Cup again. I stumble and slip a little but he catches me instantly and pulls me flush against his chest.
He drops the mic, lifts me clear off the ice like I weigh nothing, and kisses me.
The crowd. Goes. Feral.
I bury my face in Logan’s neck, laughing against his collar. “You really had to make it public?”
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Publicly stupid in love with you? Yeah. I did.”
He grabs the mic again, this time with one hand while keeping the other firmly around my waist.
“From now on,” he says, eyes never leaving mine, “you’ll find me inside that café. With the love of my life. Fixing things. Carrying things. Probably ruining her whipped cream ratios.”
The crowd loses it.
"But I expect you all the come by and support this amazing woman. Thank you, and goodnight. Go Icehawks!"
Coach Brody wipes his face like there’s definitely not a tear there. Natalie beams beside him, tugging him into a kiss of their own. Ryder lifts Mia in a dramatic twirl like he’s auditioning for a romance cover shoot and Connor fist-pumps so hard he nearly clocks Blake with his glove.
And as we exit the ice, from the nosebleeds, a voice yells:
“GET A ROOM, KANE!”
I twist to the voice, and sure enough Grandpa Walt, perched between Eli Thompson, my father and my mother, is beaming in our direction.
Grandpa winks at me, Mom and Dad both blow a kiss, and I smile back as Logan whisks me down the tunnel and through the back corridors of the arena.
***
I barely get two feet out of The Nest before Logan’s grabbing my hand like we’ve got somewhere to be.
“Hey,” I laugh, breathless from the crowd, from him , from everything tonight. “Where are we going? You just declared your eternal love for me in front of like, a thousand screaming hockey fans.”
“Exactly why we’re escaping,” he says, tugging me along. “Ethan and Lucy are handling the café tonight.”
“Oh God.” I laugh as he pulls me toward the parking lot. “So we’re hiding?”
“Partially.” His grin goes full heartthrob. “But mostly? I’ve got one more surprise.”
“Oh no.” I narrow my eyes. “You already gave me a dream café and a kiss that sent the crowd into cardiac arrest. I think you’ve peaked, Logan Kane.”
He just squeezes my hand tighter.
By the time we reach Chapter & Grind, the shop is dark. The closed sign is still flipped from when I left for the arena earlier.
Except… when Logan unlocks the door and pushes it open, I realize it’s not the same as I left it.
Not even close.
I step inside and stop cold.
“Logan…”
The lights are low, replaced with dozens, hundreds maybe, of tiny fairy lights strung from the beams and shelves, glowing like starlight caught in mason jars.
Soft snowflakes swirl silently across the far wall, some kind of video projection that's been set up to look like a little Finnish village Logan's described before.
The café smells like cinnamon and cardamom. Like something holy.
And on the table by the front windows, there's a leather folder sitting open beside a pair of steaming lattes and a plate of chocolate croissants.
“Those are from a bakery in Helsinki,” Logan says quietly. “I had them flown in this morning. Fresh as anything. The real deal, just for you.”
I gape at him. “You imported pastries? ”
“I listen when you talk,” he shrugs. “Even when you think I’m just ogling your ass.”
I choke on a laugh. But then I see the rest.
Two plane tickets. My name. His name. Return flights to Finland alongside a printed itinerary.
My throat closes up.
I turn back to Logan—and find him down on one knee.
Right there.
In the same narrow aisle where he once fixed a loose floorboard with a pocket wrench and a smirk that nearly undid me.
But this time, he’s holding something else.
A small velvet box, worn around the edges like a well-loved novel. When he opens it, it doesn’t sparkle like a movie ring. It glows .
A vintage-inspired band, gold and delicate, with tiny bookish etchings along the side and a center diamond shaped like an open heart.
“You said once you wanted to see the place that made me…”
His voice is low, rough and shaken with emotion.
“Well. I want to see it too. With you. I want you beside me when we stand on that frozen lake. When we eat those ridiculous buns. When we walk through the village my mother called home.”
He breathes out, then looks up at me like I’m the most sacred thing in this shop full of memories.
“I want you with me everywhere, Emma. You’re the page I never want to turn from. My forever travel partner. My Coffee Witch. My everything .”
I laugh, and it turns into a sob.
“Emma Carter… will you marry me?”
I don’t even pause.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes! Yes, you ridiculous, wonderful man!”
I drop to my knees, right there beside him, and fling my arms around his neck so hard we nearly tip sideways into the scone display. He kisses me, desperate and soft all at once, and I swear the whole café exhales with us.
He pulls back just enough to slip the ring onto my finger.
It fits perfectly.
Of course it does.
We sit there for a long moment, wrapped around each other like the world outside doesn’t exist. Like we built our own little planet out of coffee, gruff stubbornness and late-night confessions of every dream we've ever dared to have.
He presses a kiss to my knuckles. “So… Finland, huh?”
I grin through the tears. “Who's going to watch the shop?”
" Shops , you mean." He chuckles. "We'll work it out. Together."
He kisses me again. And again. And again.
When we finally breathe, I whisper, “Guess dreams really do come true.”
Logan tilts his head. “No..”
He runs his thumb across my cheek, then rests his forehead against mine.
“No,” he murmurs. “Sometimes… you build them together.”
And that?
That’s exactly what we’ll do.
Table of Contents
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- Page 42 (Reading here)
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