Page 12 of Ice Ice Maybe
As I approached our table, the floor-to-ceiling windows commanded my attention, with the San Diego skyline shimmering across the bay. It was the view that made you pause, even if you’d seen it a hundred times before, which I had since this was Dad’s restaurant of choice for all special occasions and celebrations for the last twenty years.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” My parents stood as I reached them, my mother’s Clinique Happy perfume enveloping me as we hugged.
“Hi, darling,” she said, smoothing my hair as if I were still twelve.
“Hello, Zena.” Dad gave me his customary greeting. Never a hug, always a kiss on the cheek. He glanced at his vintage Patek Philippe, his brow furrowing. “Where’s Nolan?”
“Relax—he’s not supposed to be here yet,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “I told him to arrive ten minutes late. Nolan is going to make a grand entrance to surprise Mitch and catch him off guard.”
A grin spread across Dad’s face. “Now that’s thinking like a Dalton.”
We took our seats at the round table with seven chairs and settings, with my mother to my left and my father next to her. It didn’t take long before Mom was engrossed in her phone. She suddenly let out a small gasp, her head shaking in amusement as she continued to watch something.
“More cute dog videos on Instagram?” I asked, rolling my eyes.
She smirked, not looking up. “Not quite, though it looks like puppy love. It’s a viral video of you and Nolan kissing at that taco shop yesterday.”
“What?” Dad and I exclaimed in unison.
Mom leaned closer, tilting her phone, so I could see it. I watched in surprised embarrassment as the video replayed. I wondered who had shot it since the photographer we’d hired had already left the taqueria. And was that really what I looked like when I kissed someone? I appeared to be a famished woman who’d discovered an all-you-can-eat buffet, practically devouring poor Nolan with my mouth. I still couldn’t believe we had such amazing chemistry after meeting for the first time, and I needed to figure out a way to control myself.
“Let me see that,” Dad demanded.
Mom passed him the phone, and he ground his teeth as he viewed the footage. He handed the phone back to Mom without a word and took a long swig of his whiskey.
“Go ahead. Say it. Let’s get it out of the way before everyone arrives,” I prodded, bracing myself for another lecture.
Dad’s eyes met mine, his gaze sharp. “That lunch was to go over the plan and get to know each other, not for him to perform an impromptu tonsillectomy. Why did you let him do that to you? He’s taking advantage of the situation and I won’t stand for it.”
Mom smirked as she watched the video again. “Sorry, honey, but there is no doubt in my mind that Zena was a very willing participant.”
“Is this true?” Dad asked.
“Yes,” I admitted, lifting my chin defiantly. “I told him to kiss me.”
Dad froze, his glass halfway to his lips. “Have you lost your mind?”
“He needs to look convincingly in love with me for this plan to work,” I explained, my voice low but firm. “I had to see if he was up for the task. We were trying our acting skills and were caught on camera. It meant nothing.”
Mom smirked. “He was more than up for the task. Nolan rose to the occasion.”
Dad grimaced. “Elena, please ... I told him no hanky-panky. You don’t need to be all over each other to prove you are a couple.”
“Which explains why you haven’t touched me in over a year,” Mom interjected, her eyes fixed on the restaurant’s entrance. “Okay, let’s forget about it. The guest of honor has arrived.”
We stood as Coach Quinn, General Manager Steve Barlow, and Mitch approached our table, all of them wearing dark suits that almost matched Dad’s. Coach Quinn looked like he’d ratherbe anywhere else, his face set in its perpetual scowl. Barlow wore a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Mitch looked like he’d stepped out of a photoshoot, his tailored European suit accentuating his athletic build. Nobody would ever know his two front teeth were fake, both lost in a scuffle against Ryan Reaves of the Toronto Maple Leafs three years ago.
“Now, there’s a sight I never get tired of,” Mitch said, his voice as cocky as ever as he ogled my cleavage. “Lookin’ good, Zena. Can’t wait to catch up with you.” He winked, then moved even closer.
The man didn’t waste any time, but I stepped back and held out my hand before he tried to kiss me.
“Welcome back to San Diego, Mitch.” I aimed for casual but landed somewhere closer to straining. “I hope this won’t be awkward for you.”
He hesitated, then finally shook my hand as a wry smile played on his lips. “Why would it be awkward? I’m a man on a mission and I’ve got laser-sharp focus. I always get what I want, on and off the ice.”
I pulled my hand away from his grip. “Let’s keep our eyes on the prize, Mitch. The Stanley Cup.”
“I agree!” Dad interjected, clapping him on the back before gesturing to the chair beside him. “Please, take a seat. This is your spot right next to me.”
