Page 4 of Breaking the Ice
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Brooklyn tie her shoes. “I guess so, but you should know the cabin is pretty basic. I’m sure Mr. Fancy Pants will hate it.”
“Zach isn’t fancy.”
I don’t believe her for a minute and my left eyebrow arches accordingly. “How long will he be staying there?”
“About two months. He gets here on Friday.”
“This Friday? As in, two days from now?” I practically shout. “I’m not sure I’ll have time to get it ready by then.” In a last-ditch attempt to have nothing to do with the bad boy billionaire of the Hart family, I ask, “Why doesn’t he stay at Hawk River Lodge or at your house?”
“Hawk River is housing the hockey players coming to town and Zach doesn’t want to be in the middle of so much action.” Shrugging her shoulders, she adds, “My house isn’t exactly a serene environment.” Kelly’s got that right. Every time I’ve been there, her boys are creating some kind of ruckus.” With a glint in her eye, she says, “Your mom’s property is perfect for his needs.”
Before I can agree, Brooklyn runs over to me. “I’m going to go wait for my mom out front.”
“Not without me, you’re not.” Before leaving, I turn back to Kelly. “Fine. I’ll leave the key in the front office for him.”
“You won’t be sorry.” She smiles endearingly.
I’m pretty sure she’s wrong about that. I decide to charge Zachary Hart double the normal rate for the annoyance his presence is sure to cause me. Plus, a pain-in-the-butt tax of fifty percent. Let’s see how he appreciates his peace and quiet now.
After safely delivering Brooklyn to her mother, I walk across the rink parking lot to my own car. I don’t have any more lessons today, so I’ll go home and let my mom know about her new tenant. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled, even though I’m anything but.
My heart sinks as I climb into my sixteen-year-old Honda. Its interior is deplorable. Not only is it fading, but the seats were ripped by the previous owner’s dog, and they’ve gotten worse since I’ve had it. No amount of duct tape or cheap seat covers can make it right.
Even though I’m grateful to have a mechanically reliable car, I’d really love to own something better looking. Unfortunately, all my spare cash goes to trying to keep my mom in her own home. A new car is about three thousandth on my list of things to purchase—currently smack between an on-demand hot water heater and a tropical vacation full of sandy beaches and fruity drinks sporting umbrellas.
After pulling out of the parking lot, I veer onto Maple Road—the tall evergreens and winding pavement not only relax me, but they help restore my equilibrium. The serenity of my surroundings quickly transforms my mood, and by the time I hit Maple Falls’ downtown area, my red-hot anger toward Zachary Hart has been replaced by mild annoyance.
Driving by my old store front, I see that it’s being turned into a frozen yogurt shop—which I predict will be a hit. I’m guessing people would rather eat froyo than buy a gorgeous bouquet to brighten their surroundings. Personally, I would want both.
Even though there aren’t a lot of big business opportunities in my little town, I don’t care. Maple Falls has everything I want. It’s idyllically picturesque, the people are friendly, and it’s home to my best childhood memories. Actually, all of my childhood memories, which makes me perfectly content to spend the rest of my life here.
Within minutes of turning left at Higgens Market, I pull into the driveway of my mom’s house, and my current home. I gave up living on my own so I can be on hand whenever I’m needed. My biggest concern was Mom requiring help in the middle of the night, and my not being able to get to her fast enough.
Letting myself into the charming, if not slightly shabby sage-colored bungalow, I call out, “I’m home!”
My gaze passes through the living room toward the lift chair I recently picked up at the secondhand store. My mom is nearly standing when she sees me. Leaning forward onto the walker in front of her, she says, “You’re early.”
“I have some news.”
I cringe as she makes the final push to her feet. I haven’t seen her stand without assistance in more months than I care to remember. Looking up, she takes her first painful step. “I hope it’s good news.”
“Kelly found someone to rent out the cottage for two months.”
“That is wonderful!” My mom takes another slow step.
Moving toward her, I ask, “Can I help you?”
She laughs, “Not unless you want to carry me.”
She’s lost so much weight this year, I probably could. “I think we should consider getting you a wheelchair.”
She always pooh poohs the idea, so I’m surprised when she says, “Maybe after two months of rent coming in the door, we will.”
“If you need one now, Mom, we should go ahead and get it.” I hate that finances are keeping her from securing the aid she needs.
“I’m not ready yet.” Then in her typically positive way, she adds, “I’m going to dance with the Rockettes before I sit down for good.” My parents used to ballroom dance, and they loved nothing more than to waltz around together. I loved watching them.
“You’re not joining the Rockettes without me,” I tease.