Page 68 of Ice Queen

“We’re all done here,” the older man says as they turn the vacuum off and finish picking up their tools. “Have a great day.” Another calls as they file out the door.

“We’ll walk Maggie before we head out,” Abby says, picking up her leash. I let out a breath as the door closes behind them.

The store is quiet, too quiet with them gone, so I turn on the lo-fi station and breathe through my swirling thoughts. There’s a part of me that wants to agree with them. Yet, there’s a tiny, nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me this is all too good to be true. That this is how Wyatt got his hooks in me, and it was too late by the time I realized what was happening.

I hate that years later, he’s still able to make me second-guess good things. Just the thought of being happy feels like it’s tainted by the shit he put me through. I can see the future I want, with a man I can honestly see myself living it with, yet I’m stuck in the cage my ex put me in. Doomed to live a life filled with everything I’ve ever wanted, but not brave enough to reach out and take it.

I’m freaking terrified of repeating the cycle, but I’m even more terrified of losing something this good. My phone pings from the counter, pulling me from my thoughts.

Markus:

The window got fixed?

Yep, they just left. Tate supervised.

Good, I’m glad someone was there to keep you safe.

My eyes roll despite the warmth radiating through me.

I don’t need a bodyguard.

No, you don’t. But it brings me peace to know you and Mags aren’t in a store with a hole in the window.

They didn’t take advantage of you, right? And Maggie’s being good?

No, they didn’t. Maggie is fine. She’s on a walk with Abby.

And you?

What about me?

Are you fine?

Yes. I should be able to move back in here tomorrow.

Three dancing dots pop up and disappear four times. I silently beg them to ask me to stay. To give me something, anything to hold on to. They dance once more before they disappear, and my heart plummets.

Blowing a piece of hair out of my face, I grab the stack of orders Abby hadn’t gotten to and start to work through them, doing anything to get my mind off the man I can’t seem to figure out. They bring Maggie back sometime later, and she promptly passes out at my feet. Before I know it, my work is done, and it’s time to go home. Well, bring her home.

I have no clothes. How the heck did I not pack enough clothes? Better yet, how did I not notice and grab something while I was literally where the rest of my clothes are? “Ugh!” I groan.

For some reason, the second I walked in the door, the clothes I’d been wearing all day became too tight, the sleeves on my jacket lay on my skin all wrong, and as I rapidly tore them off, I realized there was nothing to replace them with. So now, I walk to the laundry room in nothing but my sports bra and underwear in hopes that I can wash these on speed cycle before Markus gets home.

He still hasn’t answered my texts, and I should have just packed my things and left them by my bedroom door, but I had to get out of these clothes first, apparently. There’s a Hawks sweatshirt hanging in the corner above the super convenient countertop, which I assume is used for folding clothes.

I imagine him towering over this thing, folding his laundry. The image is comical, his large frame manipulating flimsy pieces of fabric that I’m sure he could rip in half. Does he even fold his laundry, or is he a quick hang-it-up even if it’s a workout shirt type? I’m sure his closet would be big enough for it.

Wyatt was that way. The man had one of those inflatable steamers that you put the shirt over, and it puffed up, taking the wrinkles out in seconds. Unfortunately for me, that was my job. I shake the thoughts of my ex out of my head. He doesn’t deserve any more of my time.

I pull the sweatshirt off the hanger and pull it over my head before loading the washer and shutting the light off. Chopped is on in the living room, and my stomach growls at the sight of the food they’re working with. Have I eaten anything since the burrito Abby brought earlier? My stomach gurgles, apparently not.

I make my way into the kitchen, debating over whether to make a frozen pizza I grabbed on the way here, or try my hand at the ramen I picked up the ingredients for. Cecilia texted me the other day with a few different recipes she deemed “beginner-friendly,” but they didn’t sound all that appetizing to make for just myself. So naturally, I watched Chef's Table, the noodle episode, and decided it would be a great starting point. A quick internet search gave me more than one shortcut, so there’s hope. Even if it’s minuscule.

I bought enough that I’d have leftovers in case Markus is hungry when he gets here. I wonder if they eat on the plane. Guess we’ll find out, maybe this can be my chicken redemption.

I pull out a pot, filling it with sesame oil and then adding garlic and ginger once it heats up. The kitchen immediately smells ten times better, making my mouth water. Once they’ve browned, I pour in the broth, stirring as Ted says, “Charlie, you’ve been chopped.”

“Aww, poor Charlie, huh, Mags?” Her head is lying in between her paws, those big, beautiful eyes looking up at me. “Do you like mushrooms?” I ask, reading over the recipe. She puts her paw over her snout, and I crinkle my nose at the same time.