Page 43 of Ice Queen

My head jerks back, brows threading together, nose scrunching. “Nameless silver eyes? That was the best you could come up with?”

I shake my head, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel before I point at her, eyes still trained on the road ahead. “I could give you a list of better options, starting with, I don’t know, ‘handsome,’ then we could go to, ‘handsome man who saved me,’ which could then lead to ‘prince charming,’ come on, Princesa… Nameless sliver eyes?”

Her soft laugh floats through the cab, and the unease I felt when we first started the drive floats away on the tails of it. I find myself smiling as I turn into my neighborhood. It’s quieter than most in the city, feels like a different world, honestly. There’s less noise, more sky. And tonight, the stars are out, clear in a way that you don’t usually get in a big city.

Her eyes widen as she takes it in, eyes sweeping back and forth along the palm tree-lined street. I wish I knew what she was thinking. Does she regret getting in here with me? Is my house safe, or another trap? Does she even know?

Do I?

Pulling into the driveway, I cut the engine and just sit for a second. My keys feel heavy in my hand. I’ve seen my house a million times, but I’ve never looked at it like this. Wondering what someone else thinks. Is it nice enough? Did she expect more?

I take a deep breath and grab her bag out of the back seat. “No one’s lived here but me, so I’m sorry if it’s a little basic. I don’t need much.”

Her lips fall apart just slightly. “It’s beautiful.”

I hum, my eyes locked on the side of her face.

“You’re staring.” Her voice pulls me from my thoughts.

“Sorry, lost in thought.” More like lost in her beauty, huh buddy? Pushing the door open, I round the front of my truck, opening her door and offering her my hand.

She stares at it for a long second before she decides to slide her hand in mine. It’s not cold this time, so I let myself notice how my hand swallows hers whole. It fits perfectly, like her hand was made for me to hold. I shake the thought from my head. It was meant for me to hold while I help her out of my car. There, better.

Maggie barks from the back seat, holding one of my roller hockey pucks in her mouth. The perfect reminder of everything I currently have to lose. I drop Kait’s hand and grab Maggie.

The mundane task of sliding my key into my own front door, the same way I have a thousand times, feels different knowing there’s someone behind me. Something in the air shifts as the door unlocks. It’s subtle, happening quietly, and without permission. Puzzle pieces, moving into a configuration that I don’t have a picture to reference.

What I do know is that when the front door opens, and Maggie runs past both of us, I step aside to let her through. She stands in the entryway, staring at the open door. She bites into her bottom lip hard enough for it to turn white, yet even with her hesitancy and my own, this feels like how coming home should feel.

And I like it.

* Shit

CHAPTER 16

Kaitlyn

His house is nothing like I expected. It’s a quaint, one-story home on a bigger plot of land. Every article I read about him makes him seem like this big, grandiose bougie womanizer. The version of him standing in front of me is anything but.

I pause at the door, looking at the light gray wood flooring that runs the length of the house. I can see straight through the house to the large glass sliding doors. It’s open, beautiful, but still not flashy. A lump forms in my throat as my eyes move back and forth over the open floor plan. If I step inside, I become dependent on someone again.

No one’s coming to save you, save yourself. The thought sneaks in, threatening to leave a trail of mental destruction in its wake.

“You’re going to get eaten alive by mosquitoes if you keep standing out there.”

I jump at the sound of his voice, but tell myself that just because I’m here doesn’t mean I owe him anything. He already told me as much.

“Make yourself at home.” He closes the door behind me, holding out his hand to take my bag.

“It’s beautiful.” I follow him into the kitchen, my eyes widening as it comes into view. My mother would have loved this kitchen. High ceilings make the room look infinitely bigger, stainless steel appliances, a farmhouse sink, and whitewashed brick climb the wall above the stove, making it seem manly yet modern.

The cabinets themselves are a dark matte gray, with slim black handles that sit like purposeful strokes of ink. Four backless barstools slide under the island that’s complete with a waterfall edge. It’s times like these that I wish I actually knew what I was doing in a kitchen.

“You cook?” he asks, sliding around the island and setting my duffel bag on the edge.

“N-no.” My hands clasp together behind my back, only for Maggie to nudge at them. “My mom loved to cook, but I never learned.”

A low hum comes from him, before he grabs the handle of the refrigerator door, the muscle in his forearm rippling when he pulls it open. The light from inside stretches across the floor as he digs through it. With a handful of ingredients, he sets them all on top of the counter, meticulous in their order. “Do you like spicy food?”