Page 32 of Ice Princess

“Your great-grandma Elda’s ring. I stashed it there when we were doing construction and never moved it back.”

“R-ring?” I blink rapidly.

“Give your mom some time and be patient with her. She’s got a good heart. I’m sure she’ll see what you see in Rebel eventually.”

I jolt back. “Dad, no. I don’t need a ring?—”

“Good night, son.” He raises the cup in salute.

“No, dad. Listen?—”

I watch helplessly as he carries mom’s tea down the hall and to the right. Their bedroom door closes softly in the stillness.

Realizing that I’m no longer hungry, I retreat to my studio too and fall into bed. But dad’s words run in circles around my head and I barely get any sleep.

I’m still thinking about it during early morning training, later at my uncle’s hardware store, and when I drive over to The Tipsy Tuna for a late lunch.

What on earth did I say to make dad think I was THAT serious about Rebel? Is it obvious that I don’t hate her as much as she thinks I do?

As I knock back my glass of sweet tea and crunch thoughtfully on the ice cubes, the object of my thoughts breezes through the door.

“Hi, Rebel!” Mauve yells from behind the bar.

“Looks like in here’s full,” Rebel says, her eyes skipping over the tables. “Guess I’ll take today’s lunch to go.”

Mauve points a dark hand at my corner of the restaurant. “No, need. Your boyfriend’s at that table over there. You can sit with him.”

Rebel’s thick blonde hair spins around her shoulders as she turns to take me in.

I swallow hard and sit up straighter.

“Let me get you an extra mat and coaster,” Mauve says.

“Thanks, Mauve.” Rebel follows the plump, older woman to my table.

“Your usual, Rebel?” Mauve asks, setting the mat down across from me.

“Yes, please. And I’ll have a root beer float too.”

“Ooh, are you celebrating something?”

Rebel sighs in exhaustion. “I need a sugar rush. April and I have been doing interviews all morning. It hasn’t been going well.”

“Interviews?” I ask.

Rebel glances at me and her eyes go dim. “The shop is extremely busy these days. We can’t keep up with demand, so we need more mechanics in the bay.”

Mauve offers a consoling nod. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll be right out with your orders.”

Rebel smiles sweetly at Mauve but, as soon as the older woman leaves our table, she turns frosty.

Lips tightening into a straight line, she shuffles around her purse. Her thick, blonde hair swings down to hide most of her face.

My heart picks up speed as I mentally trace the slope of her nose down to her lips. They’re shinier today, like twin flower petals heavy after a gentle rain. Her jumper is half-unzipped, revealing a white tank top underneath. A grease stain sits on her cheek and I want to wipe it off so badly that my fingers quake.

I pull my hands beneath the table so I don’t give in to the impulse.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

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