Page 54 of Ice Mechanic

“Poor thing. You should have given him a heads-up that you’d be gone. He was really looking forward to talking with you, April.”

“About his car? I told him all it needed was an oil change.”

“Not that, silly.”

“Then what?”

“I think Chance missed you.”

It’s such a ridiculous statement that it makes me choke. “Me? Missedme?”

“That’s what I said.”

I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel and squeeze. “Might I remind you that he’stheChance McLanely. Hockey all-star, famous heir to a fortune,ChanceMcLanely?”

“And?”

“Aaaand,” I stress, “if he’d be missing anyone it wouldn’t be me. A supermodel? Yes. A social media influencer? Sure. A celebrity? Of course. But me?”

“What’s wrong withyou?” Rebel snaps, sounding ready to fight.

You’re just too much like the guys, April. Sometimes, you feel like one of the bros to me.

Unwarranted, Evan’s voice rings through my head from the day we broke up.

I scramble outside into the sunshine to escape the memories.

“Can we not talk about this?” I mumble.

“No, we’re talking about this. I want to know. What do those women have that you don’t?”

“Come on, Rebel. Let’s be realistic. I spend more time in a jumpsuit than I do in a dress. I know more about cars than the average guy. And I come home with dirt under my nails that’s impossible to clean off. It’s embarrassing when I have to shake hands with people. Nothing about me is sexy or soft or ladylike. Does that sound remotely like someone a super famous athlete would want?”

“Heck yeah!” Rebel yells. I can picture her with her head tilted, blonde hair spilling down her shoulders and eyes ablaze. “Is having dirt under your nails a crime? Is it the same as going on a murdering spree? Or throwing old ladies off buildings? No! You’re a mechanic. It comes with the job. And who decides what’s feminine and sexy and soft and what’s not? You look super cute in your jumpsuits. Supermodels and social media girls can’t compete with your gorgeous natural curls and those adorable freckles! Absolutely not.”

I bark out a laugh as I pass a row of shiny cars. “Aw, you’re so sweet, Rebel. This is why I have a freakish amount of confidence. You know how to butter me up.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“The point is,” I wave my hand, “Chance is just a business partner.”

“I know what I saw.”

“Then maybe that’s a sign to get your eyes checked,” I tease.

Something glints in the corner of my eye. I notice a familiar convertible in the line of cars parked in front of the nursing home. AmIthe one who needs to get her eyes checked? Why does that look like Chance’s car?

“I’ll call you later, Rebel.” Hurrying up the stairs and through the revolving glass door, I slip my phone into my purse.

A receptionist greets me with a smile in the lobby.

“April, hi.” She checks her watch. “You’re a little late today.”

My eyes dart around. “Oh… yeah. It was a busy day.” I peer past the archway leading to a long, marble hallway. “Is my dad in his suite?”

“He’s in the entertainment room with the other residents.”

“Thanks.” I push away from the counter and hurry to the entertainment room. It’s the largest room in the building with wall-to-ceiling windows that lets in lots of sunlight.

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