Page 41 of Ice Darling
I take a step toward her. “Kind of hard to ignore the giant bike right in front of my driveway.”
“Relax. I’m not going to drive over your tulips.” Her eyes trail over me and widen. “Wow…you look awful.”
“And you look…” I can’t say what I’m thinking.
Because it wouldn’t be an insult.
She looks good. Really good.
Her top is cropped, exposing a sliver of her stomach between the hem of her shirt and her jeans, which are—of course—tight enough to squeeze the remnants of toothpaste out of the tube.
Her hair is windswept and her cheeks flushed, like she kept her helmet visor open and let the sun kiss her while she rode.
“You look…” I repeat, my throat dry.
Her big, Bambi eyes lock on me and refuse to let go. How am I supposed to think under these circumstances?
“Why are you here again?” I blurt, agitated. The crippling guilt I feel about my daughter should have kept me from noticing anything about this woman.
And yet my pulse is racing.
I need her off my property.
The door slams open, and Mom appears. “Cordelia, hi.” Her grin is strained, and she tosses me a helpless look. “You’re here.”
“Yes. Can I have the keys so I can look at the car?”
“The car?” My eyes shoot to Mom.
Her eyes swerve away in avoidance.
“What’s wrong with your car?” I press.
“It’s not my car. It’syourcar.”
That’s news to me. “What’s wrong with my car?”
Mom forces a laugh and beckons the female mechanic inside. “Come in for a moment while I look for the keys.”
Cordelia follows her into the house, and I remain on the porch, feeling bamboozled. There was nothing wrong with my car, which leaves only one explanation. Mom is setting me up with Cordelia. Again.
Why is she worried about my love life when Gordie’s not well?
“Oh no. Gordie.” Mom let Cordelia into the house. What if Gordie gets upset and embarrassed having an audience during her episode? Having a stranger there may make things worse.
Protective instincts blaring, I barge inside, ready to do damage control.
But muffled conversation and a soft giggle punches me in the gut, and the harsh words stick right there in my throat.
My eyes zoom to my daughter who’s still under the table. Still hiding from the world.
But she’s no longer shivering or wrapping her arms around herself.
And most importantly, she’s no longer alone.
Chapter Fifteen
Cordelia
