Frozen - Page 3

My mother smiled to herself as she stood up and winked. “Yep, let’s go get some brekky. You can tell me how you plan on getting me grandchild that doll for Christmas along the way. I can tell it’s going to be interesting.”

I snorted. “Doubtful.”

“I wouldn’t speak too soon on that, lovely.” My mother winked. “When you’re involved, things are always interesting.”

CHAPTER TWO

My mother and I went to a café in the village and had breakfast. Afterwards, she dropped me off at Smyths on her way to the shopping district. She had some errands to run – a trip to Smyths was included in that – but she didn’t want to come into the shop with me.

I was an in-and-out kind of shopper, and she was . . . not.

I got there forty minutes before most businesses had their lunch hour. I was glad my mother had decided not to come in with me, because I knew I had a limited amount of time left in my mission, so I had to get to it.

My mother wished me good luck in finding a doll for Charli, and I foolishly told her that I didn’t need it. It turned out I needed more than luck – I needed a bloody leprechaun with his pot of gold to appear and accompany me into the shop, because I was royally screwed.

“This can’t be happening,” I whispered in dismay as I scanned the doll aisle in the shop for the tenth time in twenty minutes, looking for a Fire Princess doll from a popular children’s film called Blaze.

The film was huge; it had been months since it came out, and all the kids were still bloody crazy about it. That was exactly why I needed this doll. I’d told Charli that I would get it for her for Christmas, and I had already told my brother, Sean, Charli’s father, that I had the damn thing, so I could not go home empty-handed.

If I did, it meant I would have nothing to give her on Christmas morning. She had only asked me to get her the doll, nothing else. I swallowed down bile as images of my crying niece and her disappointed father flooded my mind.

I had to get this doll; there was no room for error.

I knew that if I failed, it would be considered another disappointment in the eyes of those I loved, and it would be added to the list of mistakes I had made over the years.

My family didn’t make the list; I did. It was a form of personal torture. I made a mental note of every time I let someone down. The truth was, in the eyes of my loved ones I wasn’t the most reliable person, and it was no one’s fault but my own.

I always fell short on delivering gifts on time, attending parties on the correct dates, showing up to babysit on time – or even remembering to show up at all – and a bunch of other things that made me suck as a person. I focused too much of my attention on work, instead of on my loved ones.

When I made the promise to my niece that I would get her the doll she wanted, I saw the doubt in my brother’s eyes. I knew, in his mind, he was thinking of an excuse for me in case I fell through on my promise. He would cover for me on Christmas morning if I didn’t come through with the doll – he covered for me a lot and had saved my arse on more than one occasion – but it was a cycle I was putting a stop to.

I made a vow that I would keep my promise to Charli, and myself, and I would get her this doll.

I couldn’t fail.

I wouldn’t.

I shook my head and the negative thoughts away.

“Why do they only have the princess’s stupid sidekick?” I muttered aloud as I pushed aside box after box of the poor boy – who was really a prince in the film.

“Excuse me.” I waved to a young man who was stacking boxes down the far end of the aisle.

He straightened up as I approached him. I smiled as he cleared his throat and said, “Can I help you with something, Miss?”

I nodded. “Yeah, you can actually. I need the redheaded Fire Princess doll from that children’s film Blaze. You know, the one where the princess can make fire—”

“Sorry, mate, you couldn’t tell me where the dolls from that popular Blaze film are, could you? I need the red-haired Fire Princess one.”

My mouth lost all hint of a smile, and my stomach churned with the sight of him. My wide eyes narrowed and my hands balled into fists. This was cruel; as if having to put up with a conversation about him earlier wasn’t suffering enough, now God was going to make me face him as well? All in the same day?

Not cool. Not bloody cool at all.

I narrowed my eyes to slits because he was merely feet away from me.

Darcy Hart.

My betrayer.

“Excuse me, are you blind? I’m standing right here, and I was talking to this fella before you were,” I sneered.

Darcy leaned to the left and looked around the lad to see who was speaking to him, and when his eyes landed on mine they instantly narrowed.

“Neala Clarke.”

He always spat out my name like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

I smirked at him. “The one and only.”

Darcy gave me a bored once-over before he dismissed me with a glare and turned his attention back to the male worker. “Do you know where the dolls from the Fire Princess film are? I need the red-haired doll.”

He just blanked me.

“You can wait your turn for help, Darcy. I was here first.”

Darcy regarded me with an expression that suggested I was beneath him.

“What the hell is that look supposed to mean?” I asked, ready to curse him out if he said something mean.

The shop lad stepped back from between us. Now we had perfect views of each other. I kept the look of sincere disgust on my face as I stared at Darcy, but my stomach fluttered even though I willed it to stop.

I hated how good-looking the bastard was – he had always had a handsome face, but unlike in our school days, he wasn’t a skinny boy anymore. He was filled out and all man, and from what I heard around the village, he was also now quite the slut . . . or ladies’ man. Whatever.

Back in our school days, Darcy had been the nerdy, lanky pretty boy. He had a baby face that was accompanied by a killer smile, but that was all he had going for him. He had been a pain in my arse the last fifteen years, and I honestly could never see a day where that would ever change.

I blinked my eyes as Darcy’s voice knocked me out of my trance and got my attention.

“It means you have a stick up your arse about waiting a few minutes for something.”

Oh, hell, no.

“That’s not bloody true and you know it, Darcy!” I stated, then flung my hair over my shoulder and quipped, “And for your information, I don’t have anything up me arse.”

He smiled.

I imagined Satan had a similar, if not identical, smile.

“You sure about that?”

I growled. “Me arse is not the topic of discussion here.”

“Why not? You know I love to talk about your perfectly crafted arse, Neala.”

“You disgust me.”

Darcy winked. “Likewise, sweetheart.”

r /> A shiver ran up my spine, causing prickling tingles to spread throughout my body. I knew it was because I was appalled by his choice of words, not because I liked them.

I gave Darcy a dirty look, then turned my attention from him to the young worker, only to find him nowhere in sight. I looked up and down the aisle, but he was gone. He’d vanished into thin air.

I turned my head in Darcy’s direction and hissed, “Look what you did.”

I walked down the aisle, trying to put as much distance as possible between Darcy and myself. He apparently didn’t feel the same way, because he quickly caught up with me until we were walking side by side.

“How is this my fault?” he asked me, keeping his voice low as we passed a couple who were scanning the shelves.

“Are you thick?” I seethed, lowering my voice also. “You scared him off with all your vulgar talk about—”

“Your arse?” he cut me off, grinning. “Yeah, you have a point. Your arse would scare any red-blooded male away. The lad was apparently no exception.”

Dickhead.

“Listen to me, you tit. I’ll have you know no male has ever referred to me arse as scary.”

Darcy gleefully smiled. “Maybe not to your face.”

I was going to kill him.

“I swear to God I will—”

“You’ll what?” he asked as he jumped in front of me, halting my movements.

“Kill you!” I growled, and shoved at his chest with my hands, which he found hilarious.

“Your hands are so tiny,” he cooed in a voice one would use when speaking to an infant.

I wanted to punch him in his smug face.

“They are not.”

Okay, my hands were a bit on the small side, but I wouldn’t have Darcy Hart saying they were. It was beyond childish, I knew that, but I didn’t care.

Darcy chortled. “You’d disagree with me no matter what I say.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

He laughed.

“You hate me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“You bet your arse I do,” I countered.

“Good. I’m doing something right.”

With that said, he turned away and strolled down the aisle.

“Bloody gobshite,” I muttered to myself.

Tags: L.A. Casey Romance
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