Page 5 of Breaking the Ice
My mom stops her haltingly slow progress across the room. “I’m not sure the cottage is even habitable. I haven’t been out there in months.”
“I’m heading out back now to see what needs to be done,” I tell her. I’m guessing at this point in its vacancy, the list of chores will not only be extensive, but exhausting. Maybe I should charge His Royal Moneybags three times the rent.
“Let me know if you need any help. In the meantime, I’m going to take a little nap.” My mom is only in her late fifties, but being in constant pain has made her look and act much older than her years.
What’s really heartbreaking is there was a time she ran circles around everyone. She was active through my entire childhood. In addition to dancing, she participated in marathons, she biked, and she even started rock climbing. Then she turned fifty and was diagnosed with a progressive form of osteoarthritis. Now she can’t even walk without assistance.
In the kitchen, I gather a bucket full of cleaning supplies before unlatching the back door and heading down the path that leads to the rental unit. It’s still postcard-charming from a distance, but up close is another story. Not only has the paint started to peel, but the windows are so filthy you can hardly see through them. The shrubs are overgrown, and the flower bed is full of weeds. I could work out here for a month and still not bring it back to its former glory.
As I stick my key in the door, I say a small prayer that the inside won’t be as bad. The hinges creak loudly, causing a chill to shoot up my spine. But instead of turning around and running for the hills, which is what I’d like to do, I reach in and flip on the light switch. Inhaling deeply, I cross the threshold. The sheets covering the furniture are dusty, but surprisingly everything else appears to be in decent shape. No raccoons nesting in the living room, no squirrels playing canasta at the kitchen table.
From where I’m standing, I can nearly see the whole cottage. There’s a tiny kitchen, a snug living room—with fireplace—and a bedroom suite. In addition, there’s a small back porch that overlooks Maple Creek, which is where I learned to swim as a little girl.
Pulling out my phone, I check the Wi-Fi signal. Luckily, I can still connect to the house. I press play on my deep-cleaning playlist and let the driving rhythms of old-time rock music put me in a good mood. I even manage to forget who I’m doing all this work for.
For the briefest moment, I consider that Kelly might be right about Zach. After all, he’s Troy’s brother, so how bad could the guy possibly be?
CHAPTER THREE
Zach
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” I ask Belle while filling my suitcase with casual clothes.
Sarcastic laughter is her only response.
“You’d love Washington state,” I tell her. “It’s green and gorgeous, and full of the best fish you’ve ever eaten.”
She positions her fists aggressively on her hips, while demanding, “How do you know? Have you ever been there?”
Shrugging, I tell her, “I visited Seattle several years ago. But Troy loves it there.” I stop what I’m doing and look over at her. Belle is average height and quite pretty—even though she dresses plainly and doesn’t play up her looks in any way. She’s incredibly organized and scathingly sharp-witted. When she interviewed for the job, she told me she didn’t care how rich I was, she was never going to sleep with me, so I’d better get my mind out of the gutter. After assuring her my intentions were pure, she quickly became the best assistant I’ve ever had. She’s also become something of a little sister—a bossy little sister.
Despite my praise for Maple Falls, Belle says, “I’m not going. In fact, I’m looking forward to taking a break from you, and I can’t do that in Washington.”
“You still have to work while I’m gone,” I remind her, cringing at the thought of what my life would be without her.
She cocks her brow dubiously. “Obviously. I mean, you’re still going to be you, right? I’ll just put out fires from afar. It’ll probably be easier without you parading about town causing trouble.”
“I don’t parade.”
“Not in the marching band kind of way,” she assures me. “It’s more of a royal strut.”
“That’s mean,” I pout.
Belle pushes me to the side. “Just because I don’t sugarcoat the truth doesn’t mean I’m being nasty. Now get going and let me finish packing.”
On my way out the door, I ask, “Is the plane ready to go?”
“Of course not,” she laughs. “Didn’t I tell you you’re taking the bus?”
“I’ve been on my fair share of Greyhounds,” I remind her.
“Yes, yes, I know.” She rolls her eyes. “Back when you were poor. Go tell People magazine.”
“Hey, I was poor once.” I didn’t start making real money until I got into crypto currency eight years ago. It turns out I’m something of a savant when it comes to the buying and selling of speculative currency.
Belle starts tucking rolled-up balls of socks into the corners of my suitcase. “Yes, Zach, I know. And while that’s all very charming, I’m going to need you to go pack up your laptop.” I feel like I’ve just been dismissed by my mother.
The limo driver calls up ten minutes later to tell me he’s at the rear entrance of the building because the front is still covered with reporters. What now?