Page 1 of Ice Darling
Chapter One
Cordelia
I need a fake boyfriend, and I need himnow.
Not next week. Not next year.
Now.
And as Mom’s heels click closer and the room starts shrinking, I snap my eyes around to find the perfect cover.
There.
A bulging bicep is right next to me.
My fingers close around those golden muscles before I get a good look at the face attached to them.
And I instantly regret it.
Viking Renthrow isnotfake-boyfriend material.
I’m not saying that because he’s six foot four with a five-o’clock shadow and a Hello Kitty gym bag—which is…a choice.
And it’s also not because he’s holding a small, accident-prone, miniature human being who calls him “Daddy”—which is a matter all on its own.
It’s because, the moment I wrap my fingers around his brawny arm in a tornado of utter panic and stupidity, his reaction is to yank his arm away.
And he couldn’t be nice enough to leave it at that.
No.
Viking Renthrow pairs the quick, firm rejection of my hand on his body with a wide-eyed look that screams how utterly bizarre he thinks I am.
Now I’m panicking.
I grabbed the arm of the wrong Lucky Strikers team member, and unfortunately, I’m already committed.
Mom’s eyes dart between me and the giant hockey player, waiting for me to explain myself.
“Delia, were you about to introduce your…?” Mom prompts gleefully. She floats toward me in red-bottomed heels, hair perfectly pressed, outfit as loud as it is expensive, looking woefully out of place in the small town of Lucky Falls.
“N-no one.” My voice stutters out like a car with a broken starter.
Everyonein the lobby has gone silent as they try to piece together what on earth is going on.
I can’t blame them.
Honestly, I’m trying to figure it all out myself.
Mom is here.
InLucky Falls.
Though it’s not a surprise she found me. Actually, I’m surprised it took her this long. The question is…why did she come here personally instead of sending someone to pick me up?
“Daddy,” Renthrow’s little girl coos, breaking up the tension that everyone can feel but only Mom and I know the backstory for, “I want to ride motorcycles like the cool lady.”
I appreciate the vote of confidence from Gordie. The fact that she’s interested in bikes shows she has impeccable taste for a six-year-old. Enough that I may find her slightly less intimidating than other miniature humans.
