Page 75 of Made for Mayhem

Tate laughed, sounding more disbelieving than amused. “You guys realize this would have to happen fast, right? Like, within the next few weeks if we want to hit summer traffic around the Fourth of July. That’s not much time to plan something this size.”

“Good thing chaos is our love language,” Emmy said, already pulling her phone from her pocket. “We’ll do it the Linwood way—volunteers, donated booths, every business pitching in. We can set up in the community park across from River Street.”

Stevie scribbled. “We’ll need food trucks, a dunk tank, games, live music, raffles—oh! Maybe a bake-off?”

Tate groaned. “You just want to win a ribbon for your snickerdoodles.”

“Maybe I do,” Stevie said. “Don’t be jealous because my cookies are spiritual experiences.”

Shannon looked up from her phone. “I bet I can get the Lantern to set up a beer garden. As much as I hate it, everyone is more likely to come if there’s alcohol.”

Emmy grinned. “Perfect. A carnival for the whole town—family fun, live music, food, drinks, maybe a few classic booths for nostalgia’s sake.” Her eyes flicked toward me, and her smile grew wider.

Within minutes, we’d somehow formed an unofficial committee. Stevie was gathering vendors, Tate was calling the town board for permits, Shannon was designing flyers, and Emmy had already texted Beckett that she’d volunteered him to help “with the heavy stuff.” And I was in charge of it all.

By the time I stood to leave, my head spun with half-baked plans and the sound of Stevie singing Best Friend under her breath.

Emmy pulled me into a quick hug before I could make it out the door. “Welcome to the mayhem,” she said with a grin. “And for the record, you’re stuck with us now. Pilates, carnivals, all of it.”

I hugged her back, soaking in the warmth that radiated from her. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Glad you agree.” She released me and nudged me toward the door. “Go kick my boys out and give that little girl a kiss goodnight for me.”

Outside, the evening air was cool and sweet with pine. I climbed into my car, the seat still warm from the sun, and started the drive home.

The road wound through town, past River Street and up toward the ridge. By the time my headlights cut across Copper Ridge, they caught the pale siding of Violet’s farmhouse at the bottom of the hill.

For the first time all week, my chest didn’t ache when I looked at it.

Not as much, anyway.

Tomorrow, I promised myself, I’d try again.

And maybe this time I’d go inside.

17

“You got any princess kittens?” Beckett asked from across my kitchen table on Tuesday evening. “I can’t tell if that’s a crown or a tiara, so maybe it’s a queen kitten.”

I stared at him. “Do you hear yourself?”

My best friend grinned, unbothered by neither the girly deck of cards in our hands nor the tiny pastel teacup painted with flowers pinched between two fingers. He took a sip, the slurping sound ringing out through my quiet house. “A man’s gotta adapt after retirement. Some guys golf. You, apparently, traded your skates for tea parties. Should we braid each other’s hair next?”

I slid him a card. “Fuck you.”

He took another sip from his tiny cup, pinky still out, tattooed forearms flexing with the little movement. “I’m flattered, but I’ll have to pass. Your sister, though? She⁠—.”

“I could bury your body anywhere on this ranch, and no one would ever find you. So, think hard before you finish that sentence.”

A squeal coming from the laundry room that was half-Junie, half-Piggie drowned Beckett’s deep laugh out. My mustache twitched as I held back a smile at the delighted sound.

Raising a bottle-fed potbelly pig wasn’t on my bingo card, but Junie had thrown herself into learning and caring for Piggie over the last week. I knew it was her way of avoiding grief, but I couldn’t stop myself from doing anything that brought her an ounce of happiness.

“So.” Beckett laid down a set of sparkly princess kittens holding a donut. “How is playing house with Daisy going? Emmy was so excited she showed up to girls’ night tonight.”

“We’re not playing house.”

One dark eyebrow lifted to just below his backward hat. “You live together, you parent together, and you adopted a potbellied pig. That sounds pretty domestic to me.”