He pulled a spare bandana from his pocket, and handed it to her, their fingers brushing with a slight jolt. Just like every other time. A simple touch that felt like a lit fuse.
"Nice grab," he said, his voice a little lower than he intended. "Linebacker material?"
"Not a chance," she quipped, her eyes sparking hotter than the lights. She expertly re-tied the bandana around the puppy's neck before handing him off to a grateful assistant.
Tess clapped her hands, pulling everyone's attention. "Focus, people. We are losing the light. Drake's intro, then players. Let's go. Let's go."
Cameras rolled.
Drake stepped up, all QB charm and chiseled jaw. "Denver Stallions, meet Wild Sacks, the underwear keeping us sharp on and off the field. Because every champion needs a great support system."
He flexed, a lab mix licking his face, and while the pups didn't follow scripts, that was a well-timed, photogenic slurp.
Zach's jaw tightened as Babushka, ignoring all protocols, shoved a tray of steaming pierogies under a camera tech's nose, grumbling in Russian about young people not eating enough. The fragrant scent of fried dough, potato, and spices wafted their direction.
"What's in those, Babushka?" Piper called, her eyes narrowing as every puppy nose in the vicinity suddenly pointed in one direction, sniffing the air with frantic intensity.
Before Babushka could answer, a bulldog with the build of a tiny tank took a running start, leaped the pen with the athleticism of a seasoned hurdler, snatched a pierogi mid-air, and bolted for the end zone, dough crumbling in his wake.
One of the linemen, a giant of a man named Gus, dove for him, but the bulldog executed a perfect turn. Gus missed entirely and skidded twenty feet on the turf in his briefs, a human slip-n-slide.
Peggy cackled, thumping her cane on the ground. "Those skimpy shorts ain't hiding much, big fella!"
Zach and Piper shared a what now glance.
Piper didn't flinch. She raised her voice, calm and authoritative. "Noah? Grab the leashes from the sideline, now! You—" she pointed at a tech—"move the main pen to the 20-yard line, away from the food. Babushka, no more pierogies."
Babushka huffed, muttering something about the importance of carbohydrates for athletic performance, but complied.
"You're scary good at this," Zach said to Piper, half-teasing, wholly in awe.
"Terrifyingly efficient," she flashed a grin as the puppies were secured once more, the bulldog burping happily in Gus's arms.
Zach steadied a wobbly tripod, knocked askew by the bulldog's great escape.
Taping resumed, smoother this time. Drake nailed his lines, players posed with their now-leashed puppies, and the whole thing subsided into a marketable, heartwarming charm.
Etta winked at the tight end, who blushed to the tips of his ears.
The director finally called wrap, and cheers erupted. Babushka and her crew high-fived, Peggy waving a bandana like a victory flag.
From the sidelines, Anna's group clapped. And Mom stood next to Dad. She looked at Zach, then at Piper, and then mouthed the word, "Proud."
His dad just nodded, a small, unusual smile back on his face. Not just about the business, but about everything. The approval was whole.
Tess was already on her phone, confirming adoption links would be embedded in the video, set to drop tomorrow. The marketing machine was humming.
As the field cleared out, Zach and Piper lingered by the empty puppy pen, her hand finding its way into his. The stadium lights began to lower, one by one, like a cue for their private afterparty. Zach squeezed her fingers.
"You—" he said, turning to her in the growing quiet. "—continue to be terrifyingly efficient."
"You should see me with a broken printer, it's a bloodbath," she quipped.
"How do you do it? How do you constantly make madness feel like magic?'
Piper leaned in, her forehead against his. "I don't," she whispered, their breaths mingling. "The madness is just madness. The magic part… that happens when you show up."
CHAPTER 22
