Page 44 of Ice Darling
“These puppets are too boring. Even when I got my first bike, I wanted it customized.” I point to the blank pieces of paper. “We need to give these characters some…pizzaz.”
Gordie nods her agreement and says, “Dad?”
Renthrow’s boots clap together like a soldier at attention. I’m surprised he doesn’t throw in a salute.
“Can you get my coloring—” Before she can finish her request, Renthrow starts a mad dash down the hallway. He’s in such a rush that he almost crashes into the island counter. Quickly, he corrects himself and thunders into a room upstairs.
He returns seconds later, not even a little winded. A Hello Kitty-themed travel case is promptly delivered to the table.
Gordie opens the large travel case, and my eyes bug. There are three sections inside, and each one holds a multitude of coloring pencils, markers, and crayons, all neatly aligned and color-coded.
I grew up with a trust fund, but Viking Renthrow is putting my childhood luxuries to shame.
“That’s an impressive collection of coloring pencils,” I tell Gordie.
“Thanks,” she says, like a French heiress bored with her million-dollar art collection. “Choose one.”
After a few minutes of coloring our beaks, my body sends out warning signals. Gordie is six and can easily contort herself for long periods of time, but I wasn’t meant to be hunched under a table for an hour.
I stretch my legs and wince painfully. The strange sensation of fire ants traveling up and down my calves accompanies the movement.
“Gordie, do you mind if we move thisabovethe table?”
“Okay,” she agrees.
I do the army crawl until I’m out from under the table and can stand. Being out in the open feels great, but my legs aren’t ready to wake up and report to work yet.
A squeak of distress leaves my lips as I start crashing down.
Before I can hit the floor, two brawny arms snap around my waist and drag me close. My face gets smushed against thehardest left pec I’ve ever encountered in my entire life. Not that I have much experience being squashed against men built like army tanks.
My first instinct is to push away, but a strange sound stops me.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I hear the rapid pounding of Viking Renthrow’s heart, and something inside me catches. My head tilts up to meet his gaze. He watches me too, his mouth falling slack and his eyes filling with equal doses of realization and horror—the kind of horror you feel when you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t.
Could his heart possibly be beating fast…because of me?
It’s a ridiculous thought. Made even more ridiculous when Renthrow abruptly grips both my upper arms and drives me away from him as if I’m infected with a contagious disease.
He strides past me and kneels in front of his daughter, who’s dragging her coloring travel case out from under the table.
“Need some help, pumpkin?”
Gordie pushes the case into her father’s arms and asks in an upbeat voice. “Dad, are you going to color with us?”
“I’d like that.” His voice sounds choked with emotion.
I glance between Renthrow and Gordie and then at Renthrow’s mother who’s dabbing at the corner of her eyes. She sees me looking and whispers, “Thank you.”
My eyebrows tense. I have no problem accepting praise when I’ve done well, but I genuinely have no clue what I’ve done.
“Gordie, you and I can color next time. I have to fix your dad’s car now.”
Gordie pushes out her bottom lip. “Do you have to?”
“Stay!” Mrs. Renthrow pounces on me with an urgency that catches me off guard. “I insist. Have dinner with us.”
