Page 101 of Made for Mayhem

But then another cheer went up, the microphone squealing to life as someone announced the next auction, and reality shoved its way back in.

I sighed. “We should probably get back out there before Mason turns this into an underground gambling ring.”

She bit her lip, eyes back to that fiery blue. “Good thing we live in the same house,” she breathed. “Less crowd control to worry about later.”

My pulse kicked hard. “You planning on testing that theory?”

Her grin turned wicked. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see, Huddy.”

Then she brushed past me, straightening her hair and her shirt before stepping back out into the sunlight. I stayed behind the tent, wrecked, breathless, and certain that self-control was a thing of the past.

I followed her back out to the main strip and nearly collided with her when she stopped short. My hands landed on her hips before I could catch myself, steadying her against me. When she didn’t move, I looked up and saw why—half the town had apparently witnessed our walk of shame.

Beckett and Emmy stood nearby, sharing that conspiratorial look couples did. Shannon lingered off to the side with Mikko, both of them trying—and failing—to hide their amusement. A few yards away, Tate and Mason were mid-argument, her pale face flushed while he grinned like the sun.

Front and center stood Stevie, waving a hand in front of her face, tears streaking her cheeks. “I just love love,” she sniffed.

She came barreling toward us, arms open. Daisy gave a nervous little laugh as Stevie wrapped us both in a hug. “You’re so freaking cute together I could sob for days. And Junie? Oh, God. A family.”

“Okay,” Stevie’s husband, Luke, said as he gently pried her loose. “That’s enough for one day.”

“You love me for it!” she called over her shoulder while Luke led her away, still chuckling.

“You were played,” Beckett said, glancing at Emmy.

“Like a fiddle,” Mikko added, and Shannon turned away, hiding a grin.

Emmy crossed her arms, entirely too pleased with herself. “My brother’s always needed a good shove in the back to go after what he wants.”

“Emmy,” I said, low in warning.

She only grinned wider. “You’re welcome.”

Beside me, Daisy exhaled, her shoulders folding in, eyes flicking between them all. The longer the teasing went on, the smaller she seemed to make herself.

Before she could retreat, I slid my hands to her waist and gently turned her around. She ended up facing me, her back to the crowd, her palms instinctively finding my chest.

“Hey,” I murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “Eyes on me.”

Her breath hitched. I tilted my head, keeping my voice steady and quiet. “You’re fine, Daisy. Let ’em talk. They’ll move on.”

For a beat, she just breathed, her forehead resting against my collarbone. Then she nodded, the tension easing out of her shoulders. My hands stayed where they were, grounding her while I looked up at the others.

“Alright,” I said, raising my voice. “Show’s over, folks. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but maybe go grab a funnel cake or something. And the rest of you”—I looked straight at my family gathered around us—“can fuck off.”

Laughter broke through the crowd, and just like that, the spell snapped.

Before anyone could throw something back, the loudspeaker crackled overhead.

“Attention, everyone!” a voice boomed. “Please find a good spot to settle in. Fireworks will begin at sundown!”

Every head turned toward the end of River Street, where volunteers were ushering people toward rows of chairs that had somehow appeared.

Tate threw her hands up. “Fireworks? Who authorized that?”

Mason lit up like a kid who’d just won the Cup. “That’d be me, Red. You’re welcome.”

Tate groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “You can’t just order fireworks, Mason!”