Page 3 of Home Ice

"One day the old man will realize I have my degree just like him, and he'll let me treat some actual cases."

"Or he'll die." I slip my feet into the sneakers I kicked off beside the couch last night. As I do, I look around. The living room seems even more empty without all the pictures on the walls.

"Shit, Lil, I'm sorry. You know I was just?—"

"I know. Don't worry. But I really do need to go. Text and tell me how many times you get bit today. Love you."

"Love you too, babe."

I toss the phone onto the couch and bend over to fix my shoe. Every time I slide my right foot into it, the back catches and folds under. Just as I pull the worn canvas out and drop my heel inside, there's a knock at the door.

Maybe I should put up a sign telling them to leave their casseroles and cards on the porch. Or better yet, give them to someone else."I don't need more food," I announce as I trudge to the door. "And if you're here trying to convince me to repent my evil ways and rejoin the church, that ship left the harbor and is on a lovely cruise halfway around the world now."

But it's not someone bringing yet another casserole. It's not one of the neighbors or friends or even some distant family member who, until a few days ago, would rather drink boiling water than talk to me. "I'm hardly dressed for a cruise, but I hear Tahiti is beautiful." It's him. Brant. The man who has been living in my head, annoying me, for the last nineteen hours. Even though I have zero interest in ever seeing his chest again, my shoulders slump involuntarily when I see he's wearing a t-shirt today. As tight as it is, though, it doesn't hide much, so I still end up staring at his pecs. But only because they happen to be at eye level. Sort of. How tall is he anyway?

"Back to save me again?" I ask.

He doesn't answer. He just shoves a box toward me. A box with the drawing of a donut riding a starburst. "You deserve a donut," the writing on the lid says.

"You brought apology donuts?"

"Not just any apology donuts. State Street Donuts & Deli. The best donuts anywhere. And I've traveled enough to say that."

I want to moan, and I would if anyone else had shown up with that box. These really are the best. State Street Donuts & Deli was one of only two things I missed when I moved to Denver. I look up from the box to see his lopsided grin and his eyebrows raised expectantly above his green eyes. Eyes that don't at all remind me of the pines in Big Cottonwood Canyon. No. They're just green. Plain green that doesn't make me think of anything. An annoying green, in fact. The green of poison oak. I take a step back, just like I would if I found that irritating green on a hike. But poison oak is smart enough to stay still. Brant, on the other hand, takes it as an invitation and walks into my house.

He looks around and then his eyes come back to me, narrowing for just a fraction of a second. "Should I set these somewhere?" He doesn't give me a chance to tell him no before he walks around me and into the kitchen. "This isn't what I expected."

"What did you expect?" I ask. "Never mind, I don't want to know. Let me have that."

I try to move around him to grab the box, but he takes up so much room. When I do manage to get in front of him, I reach for it, but he jerks it back just as my fingers brush the cardboard. He laughs and sets it on the counter. "So impatient. There's plenty for both of us. But first, tell me about that." He points to my left arm and I immediately pull it behind me.

"The only thing I'm telling you is thanks for the donuts, which I already know are the best in Salt Lake. And then I'll tell you that you can leave and go do your alpha-male hero bullshit with someone who might actually appreciate it."

Brant turns and opens the box like he didn't hear a thing I just told him. Even though it's the last thing I want to do, I lean around to peek inside. Six glazed and six jelly-filled. "Are those raspberry?" I ask, and my stomach betrays me with a growl.

He chuckles, and even though I try to convince myself the laugh sounds like a truck filled with radioactive waste bouncing along a pothole-laden road, the flutter in my chest tells me I know better. "Seems like someone might appreciate my caring, male, donut-bringing awesomeness a little more than she's letting on." He spins and before I have time to react, his hand is wrapped around my forearm and his eyes are locked on mine. "They are raspberry, and if you've had them before, you know how good they are. But before you get any apology donuts, I want to know why you have a snake tattooed around your wrist."

My mouth is watering. I'm not sure if it's because of the promise of donuts or because of the way my skin feels under his touch. "It's a rattlesnake, and it's nothing. Please let go of me." I don't even make a pretense of struggling against him.

"I've never met a girl who doesn't have a story behind every tattoo." His eyes move slowly down my arm. The air is so thick I hear it moving in and out of my lungs, and when he traces the snake with his thumb, breathing becomes impossible. "No, this one means something." He flips my hand over to continue tracing on the inside of my wrist, but then he stops. "Oh."

His grip lessens just enough for me to come back to my senses and jerk my arm away. "It's nothing. Like I said."

"I'm sorry." He looks at my other arm, like everyone always does when they find out. "I shouldn't have?—"

"It's fine. It was a long time ago. I was a different person then. But about these donuts?" I change the subject to give him an easy way out, so he doesn't have to ask me anything about the scar he felt under the tattoo. And so I don't have to answer the same questions I do every time someone finds out. "It's rude to tease a girl with raspberry-filled donuts and then make her wait."

He looks at my wrist one more time, and then that grin takes over his face again. The one that almost makes me question if my stomach is too twisted to eat any donuts. "Maybe I am a tease." He stares at me for a second before turning back to the box. "But I'm not rude. Especially not to a beautiful woman who invited me into her home."

"I didn't invite you in."

Brant pulls a paper towel from the roll and sets a donut on it before handing it to me. "Let me make it up to you," he says.

I smile as I raise the pillowy perfection to my mouth. The sweet mix of vanilla and raspberry overwhelms me as I take a bite. These donuts could make up for a lot of wrongs.

"Go out with me."

I have to cover my mouth or I would spit pastry all over him and, more importantly, the floor I spent last night mopping. It's a shame Em isn't here. No matter how many times I tell her spit takes are stupid, she still cracks up at them. Seeing one in real life? She would die.

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