Page 36 of Snow Balled

“How come?”

“Because it’s acting. Unless I’m playing a character with anxiety, I can be as brave or strong or whatever the role calls for.”

That was the gist of the job, but I still couldn’t quite picture it. “Can you do a role right now?”

Her head tilted, and her ponytail flipped over her shoulder. “What kind?”

“Any kind.” Suddenly, I thought of a video that had popped up after one of the Battery Operated videos the other day. “Pretend you’re like that kid in the video. The one who got a dog for his birthday.”

She nodded and sat up straighter.

“Here, son,” I said, making my voice deeper. “This is from your mother and me. Happy Birthday.” I handed her a throw pillow, since there weren’t any boxes around.

“Thanks, Dad.” Sierra got up on her knees and took the pillow from me. She regarded it with interest, and there was a smile on her face, like a kid would have at a birthday party. She leaned the pillow against her thigh, pretending to unwrap it. Her expression held excitement, but as if she anticipated a modest gift.

She got the imaginary present open and then lifted the lid of the box. Her movements were so realistic, I could visualize each step. She shot me a friendly grin before peering inside the makeshift box.

Sierra froze, both her expression and her body. For a long moment, she stared down into the box. Wordlessly, she looked up at me, shock in her eyes. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

She looked down again, staring in disbelief. Her lower lip trembled, and this time when she looked up at me, there was a question in her eyes. “Is… is he mine?” The last word was barely audible, and a tear tracked down her check.

Damn, she was good. “Go on, pick him up.” She almost made me believe there was a puppy between us.

Sierra carefully scooped up the invisible little dog, holding him up with delight. She beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling with moisture. Then she lowered him to her face, rubbing his soft fur against her cheek.

Holy shit, she was putting me under a goddamn spell. I needed to end this before I asked for a chance to hold the puppy, too. “That was really good,” I said gruffly.

The imaginary puppy vanished, and so did the light in Sierra’s eyes. She was just a young woman again, a small, timid, ordinary woman. Or as ordinary as someone that beautiful could be.

“Thanks. It was kind of fun.”

I grinned. “Think Carter reacted that way when he first got Zeus?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s capable of that kind of emotion.”

“He’s not that bad of a guy, you know.” But Sierra wasn’t ready to hear that, so I dropped it. “Can you do another part?”

“Sure.” She infused the word with a confidence I wasn’t used to associating with her. “Anything.”

I thought for a moment. “How about one of those cranky judges on a cooking show?”

“Like a celebrity chef?”

“Yeah, a really mean one.”

Sierra’s expression turned accusing. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I held up my hands. “Hey, if you don’t want to, that’s—”

“You fucking moron,” she snarled. “That’s a cast iron skillet, and you’re treating it like it’s a plastic bowl from the dollar store. If you can’t respect the tools of the trade, then you’re in the wrong line of business.”

She grumbled under her breath. “And don’t give me that. This ismyshow. If you can’t follow the rules, then get the fuck out of my kitchen!”

My jaw had dropped at some point during her tirade. Her voice was about an octave lower than usual, and she’d even added a flawless British accent. But that last part had been loud, and instinctively, I glanced down the hallway toward the stairs leading up to the other two bedrooms. Sierra did, too.

“Oops,” she said, using her normal voice again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I just don’t know what I’ll say if one of them asks me why I got chewed out by a pissed-off English chef.” I shook my head slowly. Sierra was the real deal. “So how exactly did I mistreat the cast iron skillet and deserve that verbal abuse?”

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