Page 146 of Ice Mechanic

“And did you prepare April for that?”

I wish I could, but I have no clue how. “You know… I think Iwillhave a glass,” I say instead.

My sister pours one out for me and lifts her cup. “I wish you luck, brother.”

I clink our glasses together, knowing I’ll need much more than luck when facing my mother tonight.

CHAPTER

FORTY-TWO

APRIL

Chance’s handon my back is a steady, comforting presence as we step into the gala.

My eyes bounce back and forth, dancing from the well-dressed guests to the lavish decor. Every fresh sweep brings something new and breathtaking to my attention.

As a mechanic, I’ve grown used to the strong smell of engine fluid, the inevitable dirt that stains every outfit, and the aversion to light colors like peach, cream and white.

But tonight, my humble existence has been blown open. I enter a lavish universe I’ve never known.

Soft lights expand from low-hanging chandeliers suspended by delicate beaded chains. Tall, white-dressed tables are laden with skinny champagne flutes and expensive branded gift bags. To the right, a fully functioning buffet with heated pans and a feast of desserts tempts my eyes.

Chance presses a kiss to my temple. His swirling cologne is as intoxicating as his voice when he asks, “You okay, Tink?”

“Yup, I’m fine,” I say as calmly as I can.

“You look amazing tonight. Have I told you that?”

“About five hundred times,” I say, relaxing a bit. Chance is trying to make up for every bad word that’s been said about me on the internet. Not even my dad was this adamant about complimenting me growing up.

“You look like a dream,” Chance whispers in my ear. “There. Now it’s five hundred and one.”

I laugh.

That dazed look enters Chance’s eyes again and he sighs happily. “There’s the smile I’ve been waiting for.”

I push at him, trying to hide my blush. “You’re hovering.”

“You’re glowing,” he counters.

“I don’t need to be rescued or overseen tonight. I’m an adult. I know how to conduct myself in public.”

“At least one of us does. I find these things awfully boring,” he admits. Stopping, Chance looks down at me, his blue eyes alight with mischief. “Should we just skip out now?”

“Do you really want to leave? Didn’t you give your mother your word that you’d attend?”

He glances to the side, guilty.

“You don’t have to be so worried about me,” I add.

“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried aboutthem.” Chance flashes the room of wealthy donors, celebrities, and powerful influencers a suspicious look.

“Chance!” A group of aged businessmen gesture for him.

“And so it begins,” Chance mumbles. “Last chance to run now.”

I smile and nudge him forward. “Go.”

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