“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“It’s a masterpiece,” Big Mike says, coming to stand beside me. “And it tested through the roof. People are already asking when they can buy them.”
I look up, tears prickling my eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, just hold onto that thought,” Delaney says, grinning. “Because that’s not all.”
She nods toward the ice. Colt has stopped practicing and is leaning against the boards, watching us through the glass. He lifts a hand in a wave, and my heart does a slow, dangerous roll, remembering the night we just shared.
“He’s going to lose his mind when he sees this,” Delaney murmurs, following my gaze. “He’s been talking about these twists for weeks. Do you have any idea how much that man has done to make this happen? I think he’s personally responsible for at least a hundred of the votes.”
I smile, watching him.
He's sweaty, his sandy hair plastered to his forehead in dark, damp streaks, his practice jersey clinging to every ridge of muscle across those broad shoulders. From up here, he looks like sin on skates, and my thighs press together, a flush of heat curling low in my belly.
He’s done this. All of it. The arena, the gold-stamped sleeve.
He got me here, so maybe tonight, I’m going to spend an hour betweenhisthighs and worship him like the sexy hockey god he is.
Big Mike clears his throat. “There’s one more thing, Zoey.”
I pull my focus from my dirty thoughts, and Big Mike reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a crisp envelope.
“This,” he says, sliding it across the table toward me, “is an official offer.”
My name is written across the front in elegant calligraphy, the kind of looping script that makes everything inside feel important before you've even cracked the seal.
I stare at it like it might bite.
“An offer…" I stutter nervously. "For what?”
Big Mike chuckles and glances across at Delaney. She just smiles, gleefully bouncing on her heels.
“Open it!” she squeals.
My fingers tremble as I pick it up. The paper is thick and expensive. I slide my thumb under the flap and pull out a stack of sheets that are fronted by an official looking document.
My eyes scan the first line:
Official Offer of Partnership - Butter Batch Bakery
My breath stops and my hands start to shake.
It’s…
It’s everything.
Everything I ever dreamed of. Everything I wrote in that notebook, every late-night fantasy, every 'maybe someday' I packed away when life got hard.
I flick through the pages, and it's a whole lot of legal jumble about expansion opportunities, bigger production volumes, and real world distribution complete with partner alliances and up-front funding from investors.
And the numbers are…staggering.
I look up, my vision blurring, but I can’t speak. I just hold the paper, the weight of it in my hands feeling like the weight of a future I never let myself believe was possible.
Big Mike is watching me, his expression serious.
“This is a real offer, Zoey. So take your time, and think long and hard about it. Talk to your people.” He nods toward the ice. “And maybe, talk to him.”
