It’s a five-second transformation that feels like a secret weapon, and when I come back down, my brothers are already handling the bakery like they've been doing this their whole life.
I head straight for the door to find my tiny human fan club in full cheer mode.
“Good luck!” Morgan yells, waving both arms like she’s trying to land a plane in a hurricane.
“Knock ‘em dead, sis,” Beck calls, leaning against the counter with a lazy grin.
Declan, who’s been silently judging my outfit from across the room, adds, “Just try not to trip on your way out. We’ve already had enough excitement for one morning.”
Mason, ever the supportive one, gives me a thumbs up. “You got this, Zee. And tell Lane we saidhi.”
I blow Morgan a kiss, shoot my brothers a look that promises future retaliation, and push out into the crisp air, their laughter chasing me all the way to my car.
The Den is buzzing when I arrive, even though it’s a non-game day. Staff move through the concourse, setting up for something, and the sound of skates cutting ice echoes from the arena bowl.
Delaney is waiting at the main entrance, looking effortlessly chic in a tailored blazer and heels.
“Zoey! You look amazing.” She air-kisses my cheek then grabs me by the shoulders. “Ready for this?”
"I guess." I paste on a nervous smile. “For what, exactly?”
“You’ll see.” She loops her arm through mine and leads me through the corridors, past the locker rooms, toward the event space where the launch party was held.
But instead of going inside, she stops at a set of double doors markedPRIVATE – EXECUTIVE BOX.
“Big Mike’s idea,” she says, grinning. “He wanted to do this somewhere…special.”
She pushes the doors open, and the executive box is nothing short of breathtaking.
The wall of glass overlooks the ice, where the Snow Leopards are practicing. I can see Colt, in a purple practice jersey, taking shots on an empty net.
The room itself is filled with dark wood and plush purple velvet, with a fireplace crackling in the corner and a spread of food on the central table that makes my baker’s heart sing.
I step over, and look over the spread of artisanal cheese boards, glistening fruit, and delicate pastries from… well, from me.
And in the center of it all, is a single, beautiful white box tied with a purple velvet ribbon.
“Zoey Morrison. Come in, come in.”
Big Mike stands by the window, sipping what looks like… abourbon?! It's barely ten in the morning.
“Mr. Hawthorne,” I say, suddenly nervous.
I didn't know the CEO of not just one, buttwoNHL franchises was going to be here.
“Please, call me Mike.” He gestures to the box. “Come closer. Ms. Evans and I have something to show you.”
"So… as you know…" Delaney steps forward, her eyes sparkling. “The votes have been tallied. And the winner, by a landslide, is…” She unties the ribbon on the white box with a flourish. “The Cardamom-Butter Twist!”
She lifts the lid and the sides fall open to reveal, nestled on a bed of gold tissue paper, my pastry.
But it’s… more.
The twist is perfectly golden-brown, glistening with butter and sparkling sugar, the cardamom scent wafting up, warm and exotic. It’s presented gorgeously in a custom, sage-green cardboard sleeve, stamped with a gold Snow Leopards logo on one side and a simple, elegantButter Batchscript on the other.
“This is the prototype,” Delaney says, her voice soft with pride. “For the arena. We’ll sell them at dedicated kiosks on the main concourse with all the special Butter Batch branding."
I reach out, my fingers brushing the sleeve. It’s real. This thing I created in my tiny kitchen, the recipe I tweaked for years, is now… a product. Abrand.
