Page 57 of Made for Mayhem

I looked back at her. “I forgot that, but yeah. Did you ever meet her?”

Emmy shook her head. “No, I don’t think we ever crossed paths—she’s what, eight years younger than me?”

“Something like that.”

“Maggie bought the farmhouse from Dad the year you left for Juniors, and I only vaguely remember seeing the girls there when I was home and pregnant that first summer. Safe to say, I wasn’t paying much attention to random kids.”

I hummed, trying to remember if I had ever noticed them before, but came up blank.

“But my point is, I think we can get her to stay. We just have to show her how great this place is.”

“Em.”

She held her hands up in surrender. “I won’t meddle.”

Before the words were out of her mouth, her phone on my desk lit up with a stream of text messages.

I pointed at it. “I don’t even kind of believe that.”

With a grin, Emmy shoved a taco in her mouth and grabbed her phone, thumbs flew across the screen as it dinged with incoming text messages.

“Jesus Christ.”

She just grinned wider. “We’ve got six weeks. Operation Win Daisy Over is officially live.”

I didn’t bother arguing, knowing my bubbly little sister would just steamroll me. She’d always been this way, but finding Beckett and her own happiness had seemed to make her hellbent on ensuring everyone around her was just as happy as she was.

When we finished lunch, she grabbed a bag of peach sour candy from the front counter like she always did, kissed my cheek, and swept out the door with a singsong, “You’re welcome!”

I stood in the doorway for a second, watching River Street hum outside. Same little town. Same bell on the front door. Same everything. But everything else in my life felt like it was shifting under my feet.

I’d kept this store running for the last three years since I retired from the NHL. Kept every shelf organized the way Dad liked it. I told myself it was about legacy, about honoring him. But Emmy was right.

The store wasn’t my dream; hockey was. And so was Junie. But this… the store was a weight I didn’t need to carry anymore.

“Hey, Steve,” I called to the kid at the register. “Go grab lunch. I’ve got it.”

Steve looked up, then grinned. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Take your time.”

He grabbed his keys and headed out, giving Rowdy a quick pat on the way past.

I slid in behind the register, scratching Rowdy’s head as I reached for the notepad and pen I kept tucked beneath the counter. My brain was already drafting a job listing—general manager, full-time, steady, capable. Someone who wasn’t me.

Maybe it was time.

The bell over the door jingled. I looked up, pen still in my hand. A woman stood just inside the doorway, a blanket tucked in her arms, her smile soft and unsure.

“Welcome to Hudson Hardware,” I said, setting the pen down. “How can I help?”

She shifted the bundle, and it moved.

“You’re Ty Hudson, right?” she asked. “The one who rescues things?”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Guess that’s me.”

She glanced down at the blanket, then back up. “Room for one more?”