Page 87 of Enemies in Paradise

Her ill-advised plan must have taken the fight out of her.

“Fine. But I’m only letting you give me a ride for Willy Wonkat.”

“Who said anything about givingyoua ride? Irma will be here in an hour.” My eyes dart back to her in time to see the surprise on her face, and I turn around fast before she catches my smile.

I take two long strides before she calls my name.

“Bjorn!” Her breath is short and labored, snow crunches behind me, and I know she’s trying to catch up with me, but I don’t stop. “Bjorn!B-JORN!”

I walk faster until she finally yells, “Bear!”

Then I stop and face her with a grin. “Isn’t that easier to say?”

She glares at me, her eyes ebbing and flowing through angry shades of green, drawing me closer. Willy Wonkat—is that really his name?—let’s out a meow that sounds like a dachshund with its tail caught in a door.

Cassie’s mouth cracks into an unwilling smile. “Yes, it’s easier.”

“Good. I like it when you call me Bear.” I turn back around. “I don’t know why you always choose to do things the hard way. Choose easy. That’s my motto.”

“Is it?” With a few quick steps, she’s somehow ahead of me. “That’s why you’re fighting to play hockey on a pond rather than fighting to build an indoor rink someone else will pay for?”

I stop long enough to shoot her a glare she doesn’t see, then hurry to catch up. “Getting an indoor rink built isn’t easier.”

“Really?” She swings her head to look at me and her ponytail follows. “Because Georgia told me Dexter might be able to get the money.”

“Might.I’m not giving up for a maybe.”

Especially because I don’t want a community center. I want Mom’s pond. But I don’t tell Cassie that part. I’ve already said it once.

“Hmm,” Cassie huffs, and instead of walking toward the passenger door, heads for the driver’s side.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

She looks at me over her shoulder. “You’re the one who told me I’m a terrible backseat driver.” Then she climbs in the Jeep. “Glad you left it on. It’s nice and toasty in here.”

Now it’s my turn to send Cassie an unwilling smile. If letting her drive makes her feel like she’s won this round, that’s fine. I’ll play along.

So I put her stupid cat in the back seat, where he meows at Molly and Molly tries to lick him through the carrier but is nonplussed otherwise. Then I slide into the passenger seat.

By the time I buckle my seatbelt, Cassie’s already got the heat cranked to sauna levels, but I don’t say a word. She’s trying—and failing—hard to not shiver.

She adjusts the rearview mirror, puts the Jeep into drive, then turns to me.

“Bear?”

“Yeah?”

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“Sure.” I nod slowly, pretending the way she just looked at me hasn’t sent my pulse racing a million miles an hour.

Then she hits the gas and peels out onto the road, sending chunks of mud and snow flying at least ten feet.

Cassie squeals, then yells at me over her stupid cat’s frightened meows, “Don’t think my thanks means I’m going to stop torturing you!”

She smiles, and I laugh.

But I hope she’s not joking. Being with her is the best kind of torture.

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