Parental Guidance (Ice Knights #1)(61)
“Caleb Stuckey.”
“The Ice Knights defenseman?”
Okay, his wasn’t a household name for most people, let alone someone known for her bank account and art collection rather than for being a rabid hockey fan.
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t be so shocked. A mother always takes an interest in whatever fascinates her children.” She glanced down at the phone, enlarged the photo, and made several little hmmm sounds. “I truly am sorry to miss seeing her work.” She handed him back his phone. “It is impressive.”
As she made her move to get into her limo, the determined desperation that came in the final minute of a game when his team was down by a goal slammed into him.
“Her studio is only a few blocks away,” he said, trying like hell not to sound like someone her driver should be giving serious side eye and possible a hard elbow to. “You could get a look for yourself in person before your flight, if you have time.”
One steel-gray eyebrow went up. “And you say this Zara isn’t your girlfriend?”
“It’s a long story.” But starting to feel shorter by the minute.
“Well, I hope you can squeeze it into a short car ride.” Ms. Carlyle slid inside the back seat. “Are you coming, Mr. Stuckey?”
A soft buzz of warning vibrated against the back of his skull, but there was only one answer he could give. Zara deserved to have her chance.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and got into the back of the limo.
…
Zara was on her hands and knees in the bathroom, scrubbing the base of the toilet with a rag made from an old T-shirt soaked in a mix of cleaning product and water that still smelled strong enough that Anchovy was keeping his distance. The dog may not be thrilled with this turn of events, but deep cleaning was her go-to fix for when nothing in her life made sense. Her room in high school had always been beyond clean.
Shocker.
The rest of her apartment was a wreck, but she was going to clean the bathroom until her life started to make sense again. She’d spent her entire life depending only on herself. The idea of being able to depend on someone else had her cleaning her toilets like she worshipped at the altar of Pine-Sol and Magic Erasers.
She had just wrung out the rag when Anchovy let out an excited woof half a second before the knock on her front door. Peeling off her protective gloves, she stood up and went to the door. After scooching Anchovy over so she could get in front of the peephole, she raised herself on her tiptoes to see who it was. Her heart sped up the moment she spotted Caleb. Just the sight of him on the other side of her door settled all of the whirling mess of anxiety that had knocked her off-balance.
He was here. Just like he said he would be.
The realization that she could always depend on him for that nearly knocked her off her feet—well, that and the fact that Anchovy’s tale was thwacking her.
Excitement bubbling up inside her, she flung open the door and all but jumped into his arms. “Caleb.”
He wrapped his strong arms around her, deftly dodging Anchovy’s attempts to join in on the fun, and kissed her. The brush of his lips electrified her all the way down to her toes, but it was over too quickly. He set her down and took her by the shoulders, turning her to face the woman he was with. Zara had never met her before, but she didn’t need an introduction.
Helene Carlyle was standing in the hallway outside her apartment.
Zara’s brain had to still be functioning because her lungs were working and she hadn’t keeled over from a heart attack, but she couldn’t manage to get any words out of her mouth.
“It’s so good to meet you, Zara. Caleb has said so many interesting things about you this morning,” Helene said, looking every bit like the Harbor City grand dame who spent half her year in Italy with her second husband. “May I come in?”
Still mute, Zara nodded and led the way inside her apartment. The bleach smell of cleaning that had been comforting only a moment ago hit her nose like a stinging slap. There were dishes in the sink. The box of cereal she’d had for breakfast was still on the counter. Her bed, visible from where they were just inside the front door, was unmade, and Anchovy sat on it with a bedraggled toy that at one time had been an oversize neon ball. He thumped his tail hard against the bed but thankfully had gone into visitors mode and would stay on the bed until given permission to come say hello thanks to the gate set up in front of the bedroom door.
“Sorry for the mess,” she said, immediately comparing every inch of her messy apartment to the immaculate Helene and finding herself more than wanting.
This was not the impression she wanted to make. The only thing keeping her from drowning in a puddle of embarrassment was the fact that she’d get a second chance at the Friends of the Library charity ball.
“Well, I was leaving the Carlyle Building when your young man stopped me, and I just had to come look at your work right away,” she said, glancing around the apartment, her gaze stopping on Zara’s near-barren worktable. She walked over to it, Caleb going with her. “I was intrigued.”
My work?
A horrible realization began to dawn. This was her shot at impressing the country’s most influential miniatures collector, and she had nothing to show her. Her gut twisted and her palms turned clammy. What had Caleb done bringing Helene Carlyle here?