Parental Guidance (Ice Knights #1)(27)
“Oh shit.” Zara’s head fell back and let out a groan. “I’m sorry, but I gotta ago. Anchovy just set off my apartment’s security alarm.”
“You sure it wasn’t someone breaking in?” His own phone was out of his pocket, and he was ready to call 911 before the words were even out of his mouth.
She turned her phone around. Her screen had a huge diagonal crack, but he could still see the livestreaming feed of a mountain of a dog doing high-speed laps around the studio apartment, stopping at the alarm pad to lick the camera and then taking off again while howling along to the siren.
“He has separation anxiety, and this is his latest trick to get me back home.”
Caleb laughed; he couldn’t help it. The dog was an evil genius. “That’s pretty smart.”
“And expensive.” Zara clicked out of the livestream and started to scroll through her contacts list. “If I don’t call off the security company, they’ll charge me a fine that I cannot afford. Sorry to skip out on coffee, but I gotta take care of this.” She made it a few steps before turning around, her headphones in her hand. “And I’m sorry for how I acted before. I’m not mad about the preseason stuff. I was just caught unaware of things, which is pretty much my most hated thing ever.”
“So, no surprise parties?” Not that they would know each other long enough for either of them to throw a party for the other.
Zara scoffed and put in one earbud. “Only under penalty of death.”
“Duly noted.”
“Okay, I gotta go.” She popped in the other earbud and hit the call button on her phone. “Good luck with whatever it is that happens at training camp.”
Then she was gone, talking to her security company as she weaved through the crowded Harbor City sidewalk like a pint-size forward zipping around defensemen on her way to the goal, leaving him alone and wondering why he was so disappointed.
And when he’d get to see her again.
Chapter Eight
Zara’s latest favorite song filled her apartment, Anchovy slept under her workbench, and she had the cover of a one-twelfth-size copy of Murder on the Orient Express clenched between the tongs of her best work tweezers. This was the moment of truth, and it got her nervous every time.
She’d already created the inside of the book by cutting paper into tiny little pages, adding in small text across the center spread and the other visible pages. Then, she’d arranged the pages so they aligned and painted the edges so it looked as if they had gold edging. After that, she’d used a paper clamp and a layer of glue to form the spine before applying more glue to the outside pages. Now, holding her breath, she lowered the hand-painted cover, making sure corners lined up and the spine was straight. Her heart was going a bazillion miles a minute, but her hands were steady. Still, it wasn’t until she’d smoothed the brilliant blue cover and set the book down to dry that she let out a relieved breath.
One book down, only thirty or so more to go. Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a puff of air that sent the hair around her face flying. And to think, she could have gone into something less stressful, like air traffic control.
All the nerve-racking work would be worth it, though, when she finished and there was a one-twelfth-size Ursula K. Le Guin curled up on an overstuffed chair by the fire with the Christie mystery in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Plus, the other great authors reading one another’s books throughout the house. Her favorite would probably be Georgette Heyer and Barbara Cartland sharing a bottle of champagne as they read Emma and Jane Eyre.
Zara was just starting to eyeball the I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings cover when the intercom sounded three quick buzzes. There was only one person in her life who did that—the man who believed in the power of threes, that his ship would always come in, and that dreams were the stuff that got a person through the hard times. What her dad had never realized was that sometimes those dreams were the cause of those hard times.
Anchovy jiggled her workbench a bit when he got up, but he was already across the room, big paws on either side of the intercom before she could tell him to be careful.
“Yes, I know.” She walked over to the intercom and hit the button to unlock the building’s front door. “Your Prince Charming has arrived bearing doggie treats and probably a new tennis ball.”
Since she was on the third floor and her dad was the kind of person who always took the stairs two at a time, it only took him a couple of minutes to get to her door.
“Hey, Button.” He gave her the devil-may-care grin and wink of his that made everyone in every room ever want to be his friend. “You’re looking adorable.”
“Thanks, Dad. You look pretty nice yourself.” In fact, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked almost too nice. The man who loved nothing more than a comfy pair of worn jeans and a T-shirt was in new jeans and a button-up. “What are you all dressed up for?”
His gaze flicked down for a second before he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and then walked inside her apartment. “Because the sun is out, I’m with my favorite daughter, and I have something spectacular for the world’s best pooch.”
“I’m your only daughter.” She gave him a closer look. Besides the upgrade in clothes, he looked pretty much the same from his hair to the scuffed-toe work boots. Still… “What are you up to?”