Page 47 of Ice Darling
“What’s your point, Viking? Tell me so I can understand.”
“Everyone around town says the new mechanic doesn’t like kids. And what? We’re just going to trust her with Gordie?”
“You saw what happened earlier.Gordietrusts her. Isn’t that enough to give her a chance?”
I ground my teeth as I massage the chicken. Mom has a point, and it’s the reason I practically fell on my knees and begged the woman to stay for dinner tonight.
Mom folds her arms over her chest. “And since when have you listened to the gossip around town?”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” I grumble.
I know I’m being unreasonable. The truth is, I’m grasping at straws to keep Cordelia Davenport out of my life.
“Is it against the law to ride a motorcycle? Does being a female mechanic mean you don’t like kids or can’t be motherly?”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t say that.”
“She’sgoodfor Gordie.” Mom throws her hands up. “I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.” She pauses and then gives me a knowing look. “Unless…it’s not Gordie you’re worried about.”
I avert my gaze to the chicken and rub until the seasoning practically melts into the skin.
Thankfully, the front door opens, and Cordelia and my daughter skip inside.
My eyes lock on Gordie. It’s astonishing the way she’s bounced right back to her usual self. Big smiles. Sparkling brown eyes. Effervescent energy. It’s almost as if the withdrawal episode never happened.
“Gordie!” Mom hustles around the counter and sprawls her arms wide.
Gordie runs into them, her eyes alight with laughter. “Gran.”
“Did you fix your dad’s car?”
“I can’t, but Delia will. She’s so cool.”
If I hear that woman isso coolone more time…
“I want to be a mechanic when I grow up,” Gordie declares.
“Oh, howwonderful.”
“Can I have a toolbox like Delia?”
“Yes, you most certainly can.” Mom presses a noisy kiss to my daughter’s cheek.
Cordelia shuffles her feet. “I took a look under the hood, and the wiring is all messed up. I think you’ll need to buy some parts.”
“My car was working completely fine,” I argue.
“Not according to what I saw. I’m surprised you were able to start that thing. When was the last time you took it in for an oil change?”
I bristle. “You must be mistaken. My car is more reliable than your bike.”
“Right. Right. I forgot that you went to school for auto repair,” Cordelia snaps, her tongue as poisoned as always.
One corner of my lips curls up in an amused smirk, and I turn my back. Grabbing a pan, I pour oil into it and turn the heat up.
“We’ll buy whatever parts you need,” Mom says, smoothing things over. “Gordie, go wash your hands, and help your dad with the salad.”
“Okay!” Gordie chirps.
