Page 62 of Ice Princess

“Why would Gunner remember that?” I pipe up, a sickly-sweet smile on my lips.

Gunner faces me, a crease between his eyebrows.

Victoria cranes her neck to watch me too.

I rub Gunner’s shoulder like I’m petting a giant cat. “He can’t even remember what he ate for breakfast yesterday. How’s he supposed to remember ancient history?”

I have no idea if Gunner is forgetful or not. That’s not the point anyway.

Victoria’s eyes cut into me. I practically hear the samurai sword sound effect ringing in the background.

She flips her short hair over her shoulder only for it to come swishing back to her cheek. In a coy voice, she argues, “You know what they say. History tends to repeat itself.”

My mouth trembles, but I keep smiling for all I’m worth. No way will I let Victoria win this battle. “Actually, the phrase is ‘we should learn from history so itdoesn’trepeat itself’.”

Victoria’s jaw drops and her eyes burn with hatred for me. However, her voice is as light as a feather when she says, “I’m sorry. I must have forgotten. Did you study history in college, Rebel?”

That nasty, nasty woman.

I tilt my chin higher. “I never went to college, but there are plenty of ways to learn that don’t involve spending four years earning a degree that I won’t even use.”

“Right, right.” Victoria smiles smugly. “You’re a mechanic. So… you went tovocationalschool, didn’t you?”

Gunner frowns. “Victoria.”

My hackles rise. “Is something wrong with vocational schools?”

“I’ll have a beer!” Sheriff Kinsey blurts nervously.

“Got it.” Ann scribbles something down, her eyes lowered. “A-anyone else?”

Victoria retracts her claws.

I do the same, if only to spare the waitress. Ann is innocent. She doesn’t deserve to be a spectator in this bloodbath.

“I’ll have a glass of red wine,” Carol says, clearing her throat and slanting me a disapproving look.

“I’ll have the same,” Victoria says, flipping the book closed.

“I didn’t get a chance to look at the drinks menu,” I murmur.

Suddenly, Gunner leans over with the menu and speaks in that steady, quiet voice to me, “The Pink Moscato looks promising. So does the Strawberry Daiquiri. If you don’t want alcohol,” he slides his fingers down the book and it feels like he’sdragging that hand over my very skin when he adds, “this Pink Lady Mocktail sounds… suitable.”

I hold my breath as his cologne threatens to stall my heartbeat. It carries a hint of spice, leather and cedar. A fragrance as masculine and restrained as he is.

Am I overthinking this or was Gunner quietly perusing the menu and looking up pink drinks for me?

“You have a really nice voice,” Ann gushes, looking two seconds away from melting into a puddle. “If hockey doesn’t work out, you could host a late night podcast.”

She has a point. Gunner could read drink names to a microphone all night long and he’d probably gain a following.

“What drink do you want? The waitress is waiting,” Carol scolds.

I’m so frazzled, I don’t have the presence of mind to be upset at her tone.

Gunner glances at Ann. “You don’t mind giving her a minute, do you, Ann?”

Ann blasts another excited smile at him. “N-no. Take your time. I’m here to serve you.”

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