Page 166 of Pucking Tangled
Long tables lined the lawn, topped with mismatched candles and jars of wildflowers that Casey had thrown together last-minute with help from Brooke and Tessa. The food was casual—barbecue, street tacos, and Mia’s mom’s lemon cake, which had already been cut into before dinner even started.
They didn’t call it a wedding.
But everyone who came knew.
Of course, not everyone had been invited. Only the ones who mattered. The ones who saw them—reallysaw them—and didn’t flinch.
Most of the Barn Raisers hadn’t batted an eye. In fact, the ones here tonight had offered to show up early and help set up but the guys declined, wanting to keep the ceremony private.
Now Luca was arm-wrestling a defenseman on the deck. Owen manned the grill with his usual quiet focus. Casey danced barefoot in the grass with Tessa, their laughter loud and unfiltered. Waylon leaned against the fence, sipping something dark and probably too strong, looking so at peace it made Mia’s heart ache.
Troy Hart—a Barn Raisers’ veteran defenseman, stood near the drink table, nursing a beer and watching Brooke with a look that Mia recognized all too well.
She noticed their flirtation and the way Brooke’s head tipped back whenever Troy made her laugh. Brooke would deny it, of course—swear up and down she didn’t mixbusiness with... anything. But the way they watched each other, always just a second too long?
Something was brewing, and Mia was certain it would be epic.
She pulled her gaze back to the crowd as a slow song played through the speakers. Without a word, Casey appeared at her side, offering his hand with a smile.
“Mrs. Ryan?” he teased. “Care to dance?”
She laughed, letting him lead her to the grass. “Only if you promise not to dip me into the flower beds again. And stop calling me that. Unless we’re all changing our names to Ryan, then I’m still just Mia.”
“No promises, on any accounts,” Casey winked.
The others joined them one by one. Waylon took her from Casey, resting his forehead against hers for a beat too long. Then Owen. Then Luca.
They eachmovedwith her—together.
Hands brushing. Fingers trailing. Heartbeats syncing like they’d been doing this their entire lives.
The rest of the party faded, blurred into soft laughter and flickering candlelight.
“Husbands,” Mia whispered. “How long do we have to entertain our guests? That big bed of ours is calling.”
Because she was theirs.
They were hers.
And the story they were writing had only just begun.
