Page 23 of Breaking the Ice

Closing my eyes, I envision Ellie at the skating rink. She’s got a squirming Tommy under her arm and she’s effortlessly skating away with him. God clearly knew what he was doing when he created such a glorious woman. Ellie is feisty, fiery, and full of righteousness. Being around her is like standing in the middle of a storm with no idea how hard the wind is going to blow or where the next lightning strike is going to land. Plainly put, she’s a force to be reckoned with and I find her irresistible.

Nearly an hour passes before my brain finally turns off and allows me to rest. I don’t require eight hours of sleep, or even seven, but six is always appreciated.

When my alarm rings, my eyes pop open and for a split second, I can’t remember where I am. After turning off the Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries”—or Elmer Fudd’s “Kill the Wabbit” music, as I first learned of it—my phone rings. I answer before looking at caller ID. “Hello?”

“Get up.” It’s Belle.

“What’s with the wake-up call?” I ask. This is not the norm in our relationship.

“Yolanda’s on a plane. She arrives in Maple Falls at seven o’clock this morning.”

“Why? Practices don’t start for two more days.”

“The station claims she wants to be there and get set up before the players arrive, but we know the truth. She wants to get there and catch you unaware.”

“If the station told you she’s coming today, she has to know that I know what she’s up to.”

Belle feigns a heavy Southern accent. “Sugar, I don’t know what you’re talking about. No one told little Annabelle Barnes anything about you. They told Belle McCallister, assistant to the event coordinator of Ice Breakers, where their turkey is flying.”

Laughter erupts out of me. “Belle, you are seriously the best assistant I’ve ever had.”

“And the best you ever will have, so don’t get any ideas about replacing me anytime soon.”

“Never,” I assure her. “But it probably won’t be too long before KBIZ figures out there’s no Belle McCallister associated with the event and your insider info will dry up.”

“True,” she says. “But until then, I suggest you prepare yourself to come face-to-face with the antichrist.”

“Is she staying at the lodge?”

“She has a room booked for the full six weeks.”

“Why so long? It’s just a bunch of charity hockey games, for Pete’s sake. In the land of television news, that can’t be more than three or four ninety-second reports, which certainly does not warrant such an expense.”

“I don’t know, Zach, but if I were you, I’d put on my big boy pants and prepare to find out.”

I exhale the air from my lungs, hoping to push out the feeling of impending doom that’s building inside of me. “Thanks for the heads up,” I tell Belle. “Call me if you learn anything else.”

“I’m guessing at this point you’ll find out before I do. Keep me apprised so I can create a battle plan.”

Throwing the covers off my legs, I ask, “Has Pinky been in touch yet?” Pinky Albright is my publicist who has been surprisingly unresponsive since Yolanda went rogue.

“Nothing yet, but I’ll put in another call this morning.”

“If she won’t talk to you,” I say, “tell her secretary I’m dissolving our contract due to negligence.”

“Done. In the meantime, Zach, stay out of trouble and don’t let Yolanda bait you.”

“I’ll do my best,” I tell her before ending the call. I get up, brush my teeth, and put on a t-shirt before turning on the coffee. While I wait for it to brew, I fill the bucket with hot soapy water and take it outside. I proceed to channel my frustrations by scrubbing down the remaining three windows.

Once that task is accomplished, I go inside and drink two cups of coffee, then I spend the next two hours making sure the interior windows in Ellie’s cottage sparkle like they’re brand new. I’m finishing the final one when I spot my landlady strolling down the path.

Hurrying to change shirts, I leave my pajama pants on in a bid to look like I haven’t been up for hours cleaning. I open the door as soon as I hear her knock. “Good morning,” I tell a refreshed-looking Ellie. She is seriously one gorgeous woman. And tall. I like being able to look a woman in the eye.

Her eyes shift around me like she’s valiantly trying not to make eye contact. “Good morning.”

Tipping my head to the side so she can’t look away without making it obvious, I ask, “Would you like a cup of coffee? I’m about to put on a new pot.”

“No, thank you.” Her eyes dart toward the curtains she still needs to take down. “I’m just here to get the drapes.” That’s when she notices the windows. “You washed them?” She sounds so surprised you’d think I’d built an entire house with my own two hands.

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