Page 7 of Moms of Mayhem (Mayhem Hockey Club #1)

“Order for Emmy!” the barista shouted, then pushed a cardboard tray of drinks across the counter toward me.

A little brown box sat next to it with a handful of pastries and breakfast wraps, ready to treat my staff to a Monday morning pick-me-up.

After Friday’s game and then the silent treatment Jace had given me for two days, I needed it.

“Thanks, Luca.” The barista raised his chin as I reached for my order. “God, I’m starving.”

“Yeah.” Luca’s tongue peeked out to lick the corner of his lip as his eyes raked over my body, rubbing his hands together like some cartoon villain.

Tattoos covered his hands and forearms, giving off a don’t fuck with me vibe that clashed spectacularly with his fuckboy haircut and overall personality.

“You ever get tired of carrying all that weight by yourself? You know, your drinks, your business, that perfect ass? Let me take care of you sometime. I can hold it for you.”

I gave him a flat look. “Hard pass. I’d rather get a root canal from a raccoon.”

Luca laughed, unbothered, then swooned with a hand to his chest. “What can I say? I love it when you bust my balls. It’ll make it that much sweeter when you finally admit you feel this connection.”

“The only thing I feel is secondhand embarrassment.” I grabbed the drink carrier and the box of food, then balanced my large, iced coffee on top with surgical precision. “You’re exhausting.”

“Can’t win on a shot you never take.”

“The last man who said that gave me a wedding ring and a big fat therapy bill,” I muttered. “I'm in my post-men, post-pick-me, Pilates era. You're about 15 years too late.”

He grinned. “Need me to help you carry those down the street?”

“If I give you an inch, you’ll take a mile.”

“Oh, I can give you a lot more than an inch?—”

“Gross!” I barked, shouldering open the door with my hip. “I’m telling your mother when she comes in for class this afternoon.”

“Do it!” he called after me through the jingle of the bell. “She loves you too, so she’ll be thrilled about this love affair!”

If my hands hadn’t been full to bursting, I would’ve flipped him off. Instead, I rolled my eyes, muttering to myself as I stalked toward the studio.

Linwood was a picturesque mountain village, doing its best to preserve the town’s history rich with Wild West culture.

River Street was the main business core, home to our local sporting goods outfitter, hardware store, grocery, a restaurant, a bar, the coffee shop, and then my newest addition: a Pilates studio.

Each building on the strip was painted a different color, most with an apartment above, and it gave the whole thing a very Norman Rockwell feel.

After living in suburban and modern Connecticut for a decade, it was both strange and wonderful to be back in my little hometown.

Trees dotted the sidewalk, draped in twinkle lights, and covered in snow.

Most of the cars on the street were either Subarus or Jeeps, and almost all of them had a ski rack on the roof.

Living in a town that was blanketed in snow from October to May wasn’t for the faint of heart, but there was nothing like the morning after a snowstorm.

The sun was shining bright in the sky, making everything glitter. The roads weren’t quite brown sludge yet, like they would be later today, and everything was just… quiet. My breath fogged in the morning air as I walked toward the Pilates studio, mentally mapping out my day.

A horn honked in the street to my right, and I jumped, losing my grip on the drink tray just as a woman and child turned the corner. Between one breath and the next, everything went flying.

“Oh no!” I yelled, scrambling to catch the drinks. Apparently, I was also moving slower this morning. I reached for the flying food, trying to save the woman and child from the carnage but was far too late.

Luckily, the hot drinks splattered on the ground, the flimsy paper cups bursting open and across our snow boots. But my iced coffee went right down the front of this poor woman’s chest.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said, her baby crying in her arms. She bent to help me salvage the rest of the breakfast pastries.

“Girl, why are you apologizing? This was my fault.” I looked up from where I hovered in a squat, the crushed box in my hands, and frowned, trying to recall where I’d seen this woman before. “Do I know you? ”

The woman’s hands stopped, two empty coffee cups in her hands, and met my inquisitive stare.

Dark circles painted her under eyes blue, her dark blonde hair in a messy topknot that looked more utilitarian than intentional chic.

The baby cried again, her little body squirming in her mom’s arms as their down jackets rubbed against each other, making the hold this mom had on her child impressive.

It had been so long since Jace was that little, but immediately I was catapulted back in my mind to the days where I’d looked just as tired and worn down as this woman.

“I didn’t get her with the coffee?” I nodded at the little girl quickly escalating to a full tantrum.

“No,” the mom answered, looking over at her baby, then to me with a sheepish smile. “She’s teething, and just permanently mad.”

I grabbed the last of the trash, stacking the now-empty cups as best I could. “Man, I remember those days.”

“You’re a mom too?” she asked, looking around for a toddler trailing me.

“He’s a teenager now”—her eyes snapped back to my face, calculating my age like everyone did—“but he had colic. I’m well acquainted with a pissed-off baby.” I lifted the empty cups in a wave. “I’m Emmy. Are you new to town?”

“Oh.” The mom bounced her daughter on her hip until the little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and rested her head on her mom’s shoulder. “I’m Stevie. And yeah, my husband took a job with a custom home builder up here this fall, so we’re still getting settled. Are you from Linwood?”

“Born and raised.” I grinned, then pointed to the hardware store across the street. “Hudson Hardware. I’m Emmy Hudson Meyer. Well, I guess just Emmy Hudson now, but that’s a new development. My son Jace and I moved back here this summer after my divorce.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Stevie shrugged, a tentative smile pulling up one side of her mouth. “Welcome back, I guess? Or are we not happy about this change?”

I chuckled. “It’s a good thing for both of us. I just need Jace to come to that conclusion too.”

The door to my Pilates studio opened and closed behind Stevie, attendees beginning to arrive for the next class.

“I need to head to the studio,” I said, waving what was left of the crumpled pastry box at the door. “But let me make up for drenching you in coffee with a free class.”

Stevie’s eyebrows hit her hairline, and she looked over her shoulder at the studio. When she turned back to me, I could see the no in her eyes, but something about this woman made me want to make this work.

“I have a private lesson spot tomorrow night at five. Just you and me, so we can get you acquainted with it all. Unless you’re already familiar with reformer Pilates?”

“I’m not, and I can’t.” Stevie frowned, bouncing her daughter again. “My boys play hockey on Tuesday nights, and my husband is helping coach this season, so I don’t have anyone to watch Harper.”

“Bring her,” I said before I thought too hard about the words coming out of my mouth.

My Pilates studio wasn’t exactly kid-friendly, but my mind was already working in overdrive to make this work.

“We have a playpen in the back”—no, we didn’t, but I could get one—“and Shannon loves kids. I’m sure she’d love to watch Harper to give you a break. ” That part was at least true.

“Oh.” She looked down at the little girl, now closing her eyes. “Well?— ”

“No pressure.” I held my trash-laden hand out to stop what surely was another excuse. “Just show up if you want to try it. If not, no worries. I’ll leave a free pass at the front desk you can redeem whenever.”

“You really don’t have to,” Stevie said. “Accidents happen, and I’m used to being covered in random food thanks to three kids. But thank you.”

I nodded, my head bobbing all over my shoulders, knowing I was trying too hard but also unable to stop myself.

“Have to and want to are two different things. This is me, wanting to. You’re new, I’m new-again.

You’re a mom, I’m a mom. We both have hockey bo—” My eyes expanded, suddenly realizing why I recognized her.

“Ah, shit. I honked at you in the parking lot as you were trying to load up the kids on Friday night, didn’t I? ”

“I mean, they were taking forever, so I get it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I had a free hand to rub my hand across my wrinkled brow.

“No, that’s a total misunderstanding. My hand slipped and landed on the horn.

It’s my brother’s car and way too responsive.

That was not you, and now I feel extra bad.

Mommin’ is hard enough without anyone giving you shit when you’re just trying to do your best. Now you have to let me make it up to you. ”

Stevie laughed, her gaze shifting to the coffee shop and back to me. “Really. It’s okay.”

The timer on my watch started beeping, and I dropped my shoulders. “I have to go but think about tomorrow. We’ll make it work at your speed.”

She nodded, and this time her smile seemed more genuine. “I’ll let you know.”

I smiled back, watching her walk away, Harper half- asleep against her chest, the weight of motherhood settling into her posture the way it used to settle into mine.

As I turned toward the studio, juggling the crushed pastry box and what little dignity I had left, the ache hit me square in the chest. That old familiar loneliness.

The one I thought I’d outgrown once Jace got older—once I could sleep through the night and hold a full adult conversation without a baby monitor in my hand.