Page 143 of Ice Darling
I hear a creaking sound, and the large doors swing open before we have a chance to knock.
“Sasha!”
“Brenda!” A woman who looks very much like Cordelia’s mom shrieks.
The two sprint at each other like twin nukes and collide, making a mushroom cloud of squeeing noises, sparkly dresses, and thick perfume. Mom’s friend finally extricates herself from their two-women huddle and faces me.
In the light shed by the open door, there’s no mistaking her.
It’s the new team sponsor.
“Mrs. Davenport,” I blurt, my tongue heavy.
“Call me Sasha.” She beams at me, showing straight, white teeth shrouded by lips as red as Mom’s.
Are they sharing the same lipstick? When would Mom get close enough to Sasha Davenport to have matching lipstick?
But then…how does Mom even know Sasha Davenport?
Footsteps patter from inside the house.
“I already took a look at the car, Mom. Mills knew what to do, so you didn’t need me…” The voice fades when Cordelia appears in the doorway and sees us.
Her eyes snap to my mother, then to Gordie, and then to me.
My heart starts pumping double-time, and my throat does this odd tightening thing.
It’s so good to see her.
She looks amazing in her usual leather jacket, simple blue jeans, and work boots. Her hair is tied back today instead of loose, and I get a perfect view of her delicate jawline and pouty lips.
The woman is an absolute vision.
I want to wrap her in a hug. Ask her how she’s been. Tease her about something, anything, and watch the two little wrinkles appear between her eyebrows as she tries her hardest to make a quick comeback.
Pulling my fingers into fists, I somehow manage to restrain myself. Though I can’t stop staring.
Cordelia sees me looking and conveniently pulls out her phone. “I just got a text from Rebel. They need me at the garage.”
“But you just got here!” Sasha pouts. “Brenda, Viking, Gordie…” Sasha grins at my little girl who hides her face shyly against my leg. She gestures to the beautiful woman inthe motorcycle jacket. “You remember my daughter Cordelia, right?”
“Oh, we know Cordelia,” Mom says, nudging me and rolling her eyes at the flowers.
I cough. Sticking out a hand, I offer. “These are for you.”
“How lovely!” Sasha starts cooing over the flowers, and it reminds me of the night I gave Cordelia the magnetic pick-up tool.
My eyes trail to her again, and to my surprise, I find her looking at me too. But she quickly looks away as if caught doing something wrong.
“Delia,” Gordie whispers, waving excitedly.
Cordelia loses her pinched expression and returns Gordie’s smile with her own. “Hi, Gordie.”
“And how doyouknow Delia?” Sasha asks, crouching to my daughter’s level.
“Delia’s my friend,” Gordie says confidently.
“Wonderful! That means we’re friends too.”
