Page 9 of Taming the Grumpy Hockey Player

"Of course," he replies, though his knowing tone makes my stomach flip. "Still, the synergy is undeniable. The crowd loves it."

As he walks away, I find myself glancing toward Logan again. He’s talking to a reporter now, his hand resting lightly on Lewis’s head. The sight sends a strange mix of pride and unease through me. This is what we wanted—visibility, connection, progress. So why does it feel so complicated?

Kate corners me near the coffee stand later, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she stirs her coffee with exaggerated focus. "So," she says, dragging out the word, "what’s going on with you and Mr. Broody over there?" "The mayor’s not wrong, you know. You and Logan do have good chemistry."

"It’s not chemistry," I insist, pouring cream into my cup. "It’s…logistics. Professionalism. Coordination."

Kate raises an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

I groan, pressing the heels of my hands to my temples. "Even if there was something—and I’m not saying there is—it’s not a good idea."

"Why not?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"Because it’s messy," I say, gesturing vaguely. "He’s Logan Mitchell. Grumpy, guarded, and…kind of infuriating."

Kate tilts her head. "And?"

"And," I add reluctantly, "he’s also…surprising. In ways I didn’t expect."

Kate smiles. "There it is."

I glare at her, but she just pats my shoulder and walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The sun is beginning to set when the event reaches its peak. Logan and I find ourselves near the main stage, preparing to announce the raffle winners. The crowd’s energy hums like electricity, their eager chatter filling the air. My heart races, a mix of anticipation and the strange, undeniable awareness of sharing this moment with Logan. I steal a glance at him, wondering if he feels the same current of expectation that seems to bind us in this instant. The crowd has gathered, and there’s an air of excitement buzzing around us.

"Ready?" I ask, glancing up at him.

Logan smirks. "Are you?"

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Let’s just get through this without scaring anyone off."

The announcements go off without a hitch, though there’s a moment of unscripted hilarity when Lewis decides to "help" by barking every time Logan speaks into the microphone. The crowd eats it up, and even Logan’s stoic demeanor cracks as he laughs along.

As we step off the stage, a reporter snaps a photo of the two of us laughing, Lewis standing proudly between us. The moment feels light, unguarded, and…right. But as the flash fades, reality creeps back in, and I can’t help but wonder what stories that photo will spark.

By the time the event wraps up, I’m exhausted but exhilarated. The turnout exceeded expectations, the shelter received a wave of donations, and the Timberwolves’ involvement brought in an entirely new audience.

As I finish packing the last brochures, my gaze drifts to the glass doors at the far end of the community center. There, through the fading light, I spot Logan. He’s standing by a car—Emma’s, I realize—helping her load boxes into the trunk. He’s quiet and methodical, easily lifting heavy crates while Emma chatters away, her laughter carrying faintly through the glass. Logan doesn’t seem to mind her endless commentary. In fact, I catch a small, fleeting smile tugging at his lips as he adjusts the last box in the trunk.

Something in the scene tugs at me, making me pause mid-motion. Logan Mitchell, the grumpy, guarded hockey star who’s spent most of this campaign begrudgingly following orders, looks so at ease in this moment. There’s no performance, no pretense—just a man helping his sister without a second thought.

I swallow hard, a strange warmth blooming in my chest. Maybe he’s not as bad as I’ve told myself he is. Maybe today wasn’t just about putting on a show for the cameras or the town. There’s a sincerity in his actions, a quiet kindness that feels at odds with the prickly exterior he’s so good at maintaining.

It’s disarming, really. And unsettling.

My thoughts race as I watch him close the trunk and pat Emma on the shoulder, his expression softening briefly before he turns to walk back toward the center. I quickly look away, pretending to busy myself with folding a tablecloth, but my mind is buzzing.

Why does this matter so much? Why does he matter so much?

It’s not like I’ve never worked with difficult people before. I’ve managed volunteers who were more stubborn than mules and board members who couldn’t agree on the color of the shelter walls. But Logan… he’s different. And for the first time, I find myself wondering if there’s more to him than the guarded, reluctant persona he shows the world. If there’s more to this partnership than just a campaign.

The thought is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

Shaking my head, I push the feelings down, telling myself it’s just the exhaustion talking. But as I load the last box into the storage closet and turn out the lights, I can’t quite shake the image of Logan outside, the way he’d looked so unguarded, so genuine.

Maybe I’ve been wrong about him. Maybe.

Chapter 6

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