Page 11 of Ice Darling
Mom shakes her head. “I delayed my return to the ship for a few days, but I’ll have to go back eventually. You’ll need to find a new nanny soon.”
I open her car door for her. “It’ll be much easier this time. Gordie’s in school until two p.m., and then she has science club, math club, and chess club until four p.m. most days.”
“Are you sayingyou’llwatch her in the evenings?”
“Why not?” I shrug. “I trust myself the most.”
“How do you plan to balance Gordie and workandhockey without help?”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling a little less confident now that Mom’s poking holes in my brilliant plan. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Honey, why don’t you think about dating again? If you had a wife, you two could share the load.”
I groan.Not this again.“I’m not marrying someone just to have a nanny for my daughter.”
“That’s not what I meant. Humans are social creatures. We crave companionship.”
“I do have companionship. I have you and Gordie.”
“You can have loveanda family, Viking. There’s no law saying you have to choose one or the other.” Mom wiggles her eyebrows. “Now, if you want my advice, Gordie’s homeroom teacher is a nice option.”
I groan. “Mom.”
“Miss Potts is beautiful and kind, and she’s great with kids. Plus, she’s been asking me all kinds of questions about you lately.”
“I’m not interested,”I say firmly.
“Viking—”
“Single parents do this parenting thing all on their own every day. I don’t need a wife to raise my daughter well. Not when I have you.” I kiss her temple.
Mom swats at me, a pleased smile unfurling on her lips. “A mother is different from a wife, son. A woman brings a soft, feminine touch to a family. One Gordie will need. She’s growing up fast, faster than you think.”
“Gordie is perfectly fine, and so am I. Our family is complete just as it is. We don’t need anything else.”
“At least, think about it, son,” Mom insists.
“Fine. I’ll think about it.”
“Perfect.” Mom gives me a hug.
I have no intentions of entertaining any such thoughts, but as Mom gets into her car and drives away, I suddenly imagine a pair of deep brown, Bambi eyes and a woman in a leather jacket.
Chapter Four
Cordelia
I would not advise drinking on an empty stomach. Not even if you’re in a silent fight with your mother and trying to prove a point.
My head is sloshy, and my eyes are blurry, and I’m in no position to ride my bike back to my apartment. So when Mom offers me a ride, I have no good reason—or good sense left in me—to reject her.
Mills, who’d been waiting outside, rushes toward me when I stumble to the town car.
“Miss Cordelia, are you okay?” he says in that crisp voice that I used to swear carried a subtle British accent.
“Contrary to what’s shown in the media,not every driver is British, Miss Cordelia,”Mills used to say when I accused him of hiding his true Englishman heritage.
“That’s EXACTLY what a British driver would say, Mills.”
