Page 11 of Breaking the Ice

Finally, a hint as to why she dislikes me. “You don’t like rich people,” I decide.

“I like your brother and Kelly just fine.” She doesn’t elaborate beyond that. While Troy and Kelly do well for themselves, they are nowhere near my tax bracket, but somehow, I don’t think Ellie would appreciate hearing that.

“Then it’s just me you don’t like.”

Ellie hefts the bucket out of the sink and drops it onto the floor with a thud. “I don’t know you.”

“And yet you are supremely irritated by my existence.”

Drying her hands on a dishtowel, she says, “I have a busy schedule, Mr. Hart. I don’t like people interfering with it.”

I drop my briefcase onto the table. “You’d think I was making your life easier by helping clean.”

Her expression takes a trip through several emotions—frustration, hostility, disbelief— before finally settling on indifference. “They’re not clean yet.”

“Would you mind if I changed clothes first?” I ask. Pointing to my sweater, I add, “Cashmere doesn’t like water.”

She looks predictably exasperated. “Do whatever you want.” Then she opens a cabinet and starts to pull out other cleaning products. “I’ll get to work in here.”

I turn around and give myself a quick tour of my rental. I imagine I’ll have a fire burning whenever I’m here, so I call out, “Is there firewood on the property or do I need to bring that in?”

I hear her disembodied voice from the other room. “Mom and I get a cord every season for our wood-burning stove. There’s plenty, but you’ll need to come up to the house and bring it down yourself.” Is it me or is there a hint of challenge in her tone? Like now she thinks I’m incapable of carrying wood.

The bedroom is tiny and hosts nothing more than a full-size bed and chest of drawers. Instead of breaking into my suitcase, I decide to simply pull off my sweater and work in my t-shirt.

Ellie is already scrubbing the kitchen floor when I come out, so I don’t bother her. I just grab the bucket she prepared and carry it out the front door. Washington in the fall is beautiful. The sun is shining, and while there are a few clouds in the sky, they’re not rain clouds. They’re more like the cotton candy variety I’m used to from my childhood.

Standing on the small porch, I look out toward the woods and notice a hammock hanging between two large maple trees. I haven’t lain in one of those since I was a kid. I’m suddenly tempted to postpone getting to work in favor of taking a quick lie down. Then I think of how Ellie would react if she caught me slacking off and decide to get to work.

Bending over, I pull the sponge out of the bucket and soap the window next to the front door. There’s something almost hypnotic about watching the circular motion of my hand, and I quickly become lost in my thoughts.

The biggest one being, how can I make Ellie like me? Despite her surly disposition, I’m more than a little intrigued by her.

CHAPTER SIX

Ellie

I have to repeatedly tell myself to stop staring at my mom’s new tenant. Zach took off his sweater and is washing the glass in his t-shirt—an item of clothing so fitted I can count his six-pack. Make that a twelve-pack. Why in the world did I say he could move in today if he helped clean?

Yet, even as I ask that question, I know the answer. I couldn’t say no with Troy standing right next to me. He and Kelly have been so good to me that I felt like I had no choice but to let his brother move in today.

Hurrying to take the curtains off the rods, I remind myself that Zach Hart is nothing but an entitled, self-absorbed, womanizing cheapskate. I’m relieved when my phone rings as I am on the way to the window where Zach is working. Turning around, I sit down at the kitchen table with my back to him.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Kiki.” My childhood friend, Keira, sounds panicked. “I just heard the most awful rumor.”

“What’s that?”

“That Dan Roberts is coming back to town to do that charity team Troy Hart is setting up.”

“Ah, your high school sweetheart. The one that got away,” I tease.

“The very same.” She sounds despondent. Poor Kiki. Sometimes I think if she channeled her focus from Dan onto anything else—say, learning a foreign language—she would probably be speaking six different ones by now. Fluently. “I figured you might have heard something from Troy at the arena.”

“Dan may have gotten away then, but there’s no telling what might happen with him coming back to town.”

A low growl emanates from the receiver. “I’m not going to make a play for Dan. He’s a gorgeous, famous, amazing hockey player living the high life in Chicago. I’m just a boring hometown girl who runs the local farmers’ market. Yawn.” Before I can tell her how wonderful she is, she adds, “And besides, there wouldn’t be any future in it. It’s not like Dan is planning to stick around Maple Falls. He’ll be here for the games and then he’ll be gone.”

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