Page 7

Chapter seven

Riley: Doubts and Dancing

I was finishing the morning feeding rounds at the rescue when my phone buzzed in my back pocket. I wiped my hands on a towel and checked the screen. Ryan.

"Hey, big brother," I said, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I stacked a bag of kibble.

"Hey, yourself. Busy saving the world one rescue mutt at a time?"

"You know it. What’s up?"

"Just checking in. How’s Colton doing? Still breathing?"

I smirked. "Yeah, and surprisingly cooperative. After I, uh... I stopped yelling at him."

Ryan laughed. "You? Stopped yelling? Should I alert the media?"

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see it. "Don’t make me regret telling you. I don’t know, I just... I figured maybe what he needed wasn’t someone barking orders at him but someone willing to help. Like, actually help."

"Huh. So, you’re saying my best friend responds better to kindness than sarcasm? Shocked."

"Don’t push it."

"Seriously, though, why the change?"

I braced one hand against the feed bin, chewing on the question. All I could see was his face when he said, Pretend it doesn’t hurt? “I guess I got the sense that he didn’t think anyone was really in his corner. And maybe if someone showed up for him in the right way, he’d show up for himself."

There was a pause on the line, long enough for me to think I’d said too much.

Then Ryan cleared his throat. "Well… I’m glad you two are getting along. I’ve got something for both of you. You near Colton?"

"He’s cleaning out the back kennels. I can grab him."

"Perfect. I want to talk to both of you about the Blades & Bow Ties gala. The Icehawks are hosting it this weekend, and guess what? All proceeds are going to Timberline Shelter."

My stomach flipped. "Wait—what? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. And before you start panicking, and your brain starts to shut off I need to tell you a few things. It will be black tie, and yes, there will be press, so you will have to dress up and be sociable. Now go get Colton, I’ll explain the rest."

I set the phone down, found Colton mid-hose-down in kennel four, and waved him over. He raised an eyebrow but followed, towel slung over one shoulder.

We stood side by side near the office as I put Ryan on speaker.

"Okay," Ryan said, his voice tinny but authoritative. "Here's the deal. It’s the biggest charity event we’ve ever pulled together. The Grand Atlantic Ballroom is at full capacity. Great news for the shelter—bad news if you hate small talk and shiny shoes."

Colton groaned. "Let me guess. I’m not just attending—I’m performing?"

"You, my friend, are staffing the Hockey Roulette table. Riley’s your co-pilot."

"What?" we said in unison.

"It’s perfect," Ryan continued, clearly pleased with himself. "Colton, think of her not as a babysitter but as an extra pair of eyes. The press will be everywhere. Riley will keep them in check."

He paused. "And no one scares reporters like my sister."

I was still processing that when Ryan added, far too casually, "Oh, and Riley—you’ll be accepting the donation check on behalf of Timberline. We’d love for you to say a few words."

I nearly dropped the phone. "I—what? No. Ryan, I don’t do public speaking. You know that."

"You’ve got this," he said before hanging up.

I stood frozen. Colton, of course, was grinning as though the universe had handed him a gift.

"Don’t say a word," I warned.

He held up his hands. "Didn’t say anything. But... this is going to be fun."

I groaned. "This is going to be a disaster."

He leaned against the doorframe, still smiling. "Please. I’ve survived worse than tuxes and speeches. You’ll be fine. Probably."

"That’s it. I’m throwing you in kennel four."

He laughed, and I realized—with mild horror—that I was laughing, too.

Ten minutes later, I was pacing in the small break room, the phone still in my hand, panic buzzing in my chest like a trapped hornet.

Colton planted both hands on the counter, leaning in with a smirk. He was watching me like he was trying to figure out whether I was about to faint or bolt.

"You okay?"

"No. No, I am not okay. I can’t do this, Colton. Public speaking is my actual nightmare."

"You face down aggressive dogs daily."

"Yeah, well, dogs don’t stare at you silently and judge you with their eyes."

He held back a laugh, but just barely. "All right. Come here. Sit."

He reached out, gently grabbed my hand, and pulled me down to sit on the old couch beside him.

"A wise person once told me to just say what I feel," he said.

I narrowed my eyes. "Who was that idiot?"

"You, actually. That was you."

"Well, that was different."

"Riley, I don’t see how it’s different."

"Because this is me standing up in front of a crowd with a microphone and probably sweating through my dress."

"Okay. Deep breath. In through your nose. Out through your mouth."

I did it, mostly just to shut him up.

"Now," he said, still holding my hand, "what are three things you want people to know?"

"Can I tell them I hate public speaking?"

"Honestly? That’s not a bad opening line. It’s funny, it’s real—it’s you."

"Seriously?"

"Start with that. 'I’d like to thank everyone for helping me face my greatest fear—public speaking.' Everyone will laugh, and you’ll loosen up."

I blinked at him. "You’re... good at this."

He grinned. "I’ve been media-trained multiple times. Might as well put it to good use. Okay, so that’s one. What else?"

I sighed. "Well, it is a dog shelter, so I guess I should talk about the dogs."

"Good. What do you want people to know?"

"I don’t know... maybe a story? Something that shows the impact?"

"Exactly. Is there one that sticks out?"

"Yeah. I’ve got one. It's perfect."

"Great. That’s two. Now we need one more."

"You’re right—everything is better in threes. Even jokes."

He chuckled. "You never hear, 'Four people walk into a bar.'"

I exhaled, feeling a little calmer. "I think I want the third part to focus on the people—the volunteers, the staff, even the kids who come in for our reading program. It’s a dog rescue, but sometimes... I think it rescues people, too."

Colton let go of my hand, but not before giving it one last squeeze. "You did it. You’ve got a great speech, Riley. I can’t wait to hear it."

I shook my head. "I’m glad you’re excited. I’m excited for it to be over."

We both laughed—and just like that, the panic didn’t feel quite so loud.

The rest of the day was a blur. Feeding schedules, a last-minute run to the groomer, and obsessively checking the weather.

And underneath it all, Colton’s voice kept replaying in my head.

That steady confidence he lent me when mine went AWOL.

Maybe I could do this. Or at least survive it without throwing up.

***

Tonight is the night. I must either overcome my fear of public speaking or leave town and change my name.

I keep checking the clock like it might save me. Six minutes to go. Four. Two.

Colton and I had agreed we’d arrive together, so he’d offered to pick me up.

Just as the clock turned six, my doorbell rang.

When I opened it, he froze.

“Wow,” he said.

I’d gone with a midnight blue gown—one-shoulder, form-fitting, with a subtle shimmer that caught the light when I moved. My hair was down in soft waves, and I’d done just enough makeup to accent my eyes and lips. Not bad for a woman who usually spent her evenings in jeans and dog hair.

But then I looked at him.

Black tux. Crisp white shirt. No tie, just enough stubble to remind you he wasn’t entirely tame. It should’ve looked awkward. It didn’t.

“Wow,” I said back.

We stared at each other for a second too long.

“You clean up well,” I added.

“You look...” he stopped and smiled. “Incredible.”

He walked me to the car, opened the door, and held my hand as I sat down. It felt... like a date. Which it absolutely wasn’t. Except maybe it sort of was.

As we pulled into the Grand Atlantic Ballroom lot, the lights from the venue danced across the dashboard.

"Ready for this?" Colton asked.

I shook my head. "Not even a little."

He grinned. "Perfect. Let’s go."

As we stepped away from the car, he placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the entrance.

My heels clicked on the walkway, and I tried to focus on breathing. This fundraiser was for the dogs and the shelter. For everything that mattered to me.

The entrance to the Grand Atlantic Ballroom was decked out in icy elegance.

Silver and deep blue lighting played across tall floral arrangements and shimmering snowflakes were projected on the walls.

Soft classical music drifted through the open doors, blending with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glassware.

Inside, the ballroom sparkled. Chandeliers twinkled above a crowd dressed in tuxedos and gowns. Servers in white jackets wove through clusters of guests with trays of champagne and bite-sized hors d'oeuvres.

I took it all in—wide eyes, pounding heart. It was beautiful, overwhelming, and unlike anything in my usual world of muddy paw prints and emergency vet visits.

Two Icehawks forwards were posing for selfies to my left with a group of swooning fans. Across the room, I spotted the team captain at the Mystery Puck station, grinning as he handed a puck to a wide-eyed kid clutching a Sharpie.

Colton leaned down. "There’s our table. Hockey Roulette. Center aisle, stage-adjacent. Ryan’s idea of subtle."

Sure enough, a sleek gaming table gleamed beneath a sign that read "Hockey Roulette – Bet on the Icehawks!" Our names were on a placard in bold silver lettering.

I exhaled slowly. Showtime.

A few guests approached the Hockey Roulette table, curious but hesitant. Colton greeted them with a charming grin and explained the rules with surprising ease.

“I swear, he could sell air to a fish,” I muttered, half-impressed, half-exasperated.

One woman in a glittering gold gown stepped up beside a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of Wealthy & Condescending Monthly. He glanced over at our table with a bemused smile.

“This is the dog shelter we’re funding?” he asked no one in particular. “Interesting use of resources. I suppose every town needs its... passions.”

I stiffened.

Before I could say anything, Colton straightened. “It’s not a passion,” he said, voice even but firm. “It’s a lifeline. Timberline takes in dogs that have nowhere else to go. Some of them have been abandoned, some abused, all of them overlooked. And somehow, Riley and her team turn that into hope.”

The man blinked. “I didn’t mean—”

Colton didn’t let him finish. “Have you ever seen a kid light up because a rescue dog sat still long enough for him to read out loud without stuttering? Or an elderly woman come back to life when a senior dog curls up in her lap? This place matters. To more people than you’d expect.”

I stared at him.

The couple muttered something polite and walked away, clearly uncomfortable. Colton turned back to me, brushing invisible lint off his cuff like he hadn’t just delivered the best speech of the night.

“You okay?” he asked.

I blinked. “You didn’t have to say all that.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I did.”

A beat of silence passed between us.

“I thought you didn’t do heartfelt,” I said, folding my arms, trying to hide how much that meant.

He gave a sheepish smile. “Don’t tell Ryan. It’ll ruin my image.”

Ryan appeared beside us just then, his expression all business. “Next song’s a slow one. You two need to dance.”

Colton blinked. “Seriously?”

Ryan nodded. “Too many reporters sniffing around. This keeps them at bay—no mystery woman, no scandal bait. Riley’s safe.”

Colton looked like he would argue, but Ryan cut him off.

“Look, I know you hate being handled. But I want to stay one step ahead of the press. You’re too nice, Colton. They’ll twist anything you give them.”

I threw up my hands. “Let me get this straight. I dressed up. I’m giving a speech. Now I have to slow dance under the spotlight?”

Ryan didn’t blink. “Yes.”

I groaned. “What’s next—fire twirling while singing the national anthem?”

Ryan smirked. “If it helps the shelter, I wouldn't rule it out."

Colton turned to me, extending his hand.

“Shall we?”

I hesitated just a second before placing mine in his.

The lights dimmed as we stepped onto the dance floor, and a soft melody wrapped around the room. Colton settled one hand lightly on my lower back, the other still holding mine. My free hand hovered awkwardly for a second before resting against his shoulder.

“I should’ve worn taller heels,” I muttered, tilting my chin to meet his eyes.

He smiled. “You could be on stilts, and I’d still be taller.”

“Not helping,” I grumbled—but I didn’t pull away.

For a few beats, we just moved. Slow, simple. Nothing flashy. His hand was warm against my back, and I could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. My heart, by contrast, was doing some kind of triple axel.

“You’re doing great,” he said softly.

“Not passing out is my definition of great now?”

He chuckled. “It is tonight.”

There was a moment—just a breath—where our eyes met and held. I should’ve looked away. I didn’t.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice lower now, more serious. “For being here. For having my back.”

I swallowed. “Thanks for not laughing when I practiced speaking to the dogs this morning.”

“They seemed pleased.”

“They were a very supportive audience.”

He grinned, but it faded into something more thoughtful. “You’re good at this, Riley. All of this. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re not.”

For a second, the rest of the ballroom fell away. I shifted closer, letting my head rest lightly against his chest.

“This okay?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s good.”

The music played on, and I let myself sink into the moment. He smelled like clean soap and something slightly woodsy. Despite the heels and the nerves and the million things I should be thinking about, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

As the final notes drifted into silence, we didn’t move. Not right away. We stayed close, caught between the end of something and whatever might come next.

Then someone clapped nearby, and reality broke the spell.

Colton stepped back slightly, but his hand didn’t drop immediately.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go make sure you’re still the best speech-giver in the room.”

Just then, the emcee’s voice crackled through the speakers.

“And now,” he announced, “please welcome the president of the Silver Ridge Icehawks to present tonight’s donation to Timberline Shelter—and invite our featured guest to the stage.”

Colton’s hand fell away.

My stomach did a complete somersault.

It was time.