Page 36 of Ice Princess

Stewart’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “Don’t be acting too big for your breeches, boy. I’m still your uncle. You still need to show me some respect.”

“I’m allowing you to take your food and walk away on your own. That’s showing plenty of respect, Uncle.”

Stewart’s face turns red, all the way to the tips of his ears.

My heart climbs to my throat and pounds so hard, I’m sure everyone in The Tuna can hear it.

Neither of the men move. For a long, tense second, I wonder what Stewart’s going to do. I doubt they’re going to fight. Gunner is Carol Kinsey’s son. Someone of his nobility would never get into a physical altercation with family in public.

And though Stewart isn’t that refined, he’s got eyes. Gunner isn’t loud, but he doesn’t need to be. His six-foot-five height and giant muscles do all the shouting for him.

Stewart laughs bitterly. “I’ll let you two have your privacy then.”

Gunner nods. “Thank you, Unc.”

Stewart slides his tongue over his top teeth, hesitates for a moment and stomps away, his steps rattling the floor as he goes.

Mauve winces and hurries after him.

What just happened?

I remain standing. Stewart’s gone, but my emotions are still raging high.

“Sit, Rebel,” Gunner says in a voice that’s so gentle, it’s hard to believe he was so rough with his uncle only a few seconds ago.

I ignore him.

Gunner wraps his fingers around my wrist to tug me down. His grip is careful and, again, I’m struck by the tender way he’s approaching me compared to the firm way he’d handled his uncle.

I fall into my seat, seesawing between indignation at Stewart and shock at Gunner standing up for me.

He pushes my plate forward. “Eat something.”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” I mumble, glancing away from him.

Gunner takes fries, empties it out on my plate and sprays my ketchup over it in a heart-shape, exactly the way I do it for myself.

Surprise ricochets through my chest as he nudges the plate toward me again. My eyes dart down to the plate and back to him. How does he know I eat my fries like that?

“I won’t talk about my family or the mechanic shop,” Gunner says, quietly setting a knife and fork in front of me. “I won’t speak at all. It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

Giving in to his request, I take a small bite of my burger and then another.

But Gunner doesn’t keep his promise. Because, though he doesn’t say a word to me all through the meal, I’m keenly aware that he’s here.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

GUNNER

After the platesare cleared and I pay the bill, I walk Rebel to her car. The sunshine bounces against her blonde hair, turning the strands into spun gold. Her eyes dart to me, a spell-binding blend of cornflower blue with flecks of green.

Awkwardly, she looks away and fiddles with her purse.

She’s angry. And I can’t blame her.

Uncle Stewart approached us with one goal—to rattle her. Every word that left his mouth was a hockey puck to the gut, intended to make Rebel doubt her abilities as a mechanic and a business owner.

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