The Parent Playbook (Love on Thin Ice)

5. Angel

CHAPTER 5

ANGEL

T he sun’s making its daily debut over Happy Horizons, slapping a layer of Instagram-worthy gold over everything, including Edgar who is munching happily in the front yard.

I’m sipping on what passes for coffee around here, eyeballing a pack of kids who’ve taken to horse grooming like they’re prepping for the Kentucky Derby. Another squadron is wrestling with autumn’s leftovers, trying to Frankenstein together wreaths for Maple Fest. It’s commotion sprinkled with a dash of nature—my kind of morning.

That’s until Troy crashes in like a storm cloud with legs, disrupting my caffeinated peace.

“Angel, for the love of sanity, what was that about last night?” He’s all wound up, a walking, talking caps lock button.

I take a leisurely sip, buying time. “Morning, Troy. Looks like you’ve already had your coffee. Is this a social call?”

He ignores my comment, pacing intensely enough to drill holes in my floor. “Scotty MacFarland, Angel. Seriously? The hockey legend and you were name-calling to his face?”

I try to swallow my guilt, lighten Troy up with a joke, which is my usual M.O. “You mean the not-quite coat check guy with a surprising amount of sass.”

“Coat check guy? Angelica Davis, Scotty MacFarland is a big deal in the hockey world. Or he was , until he dropped off the radar. But he’s going to have a comeback. Zach and I both know it, and that’s why he’s here. He gave up the spotlight a few years ago. All a bit mysterious, but the man has mad skills. If you’re not going to get him a fruit basket to apologize, then the least you can do is be nice to him.” He lowers his chin and gives me a look that takes me back to my own elementary school days.

Being nice isn’t always my default setting, especially when my initial impression involved him letting me believe he was someone else.

But as Troy makes his dramatic exit, I concede that I might have been the one to make the mistake.

Time to distract myself. Groups of kids are now parading their half-groomed horses around like they’re showing off at a royal pageant, and the wreath-making table looks like a Pinterest page exploded. It’s endearing, in a catastrophic sort of way.

“Okay, Universe,” I mutter to the chaos, “I’ll give your hockey hero a chance. But if he so much as hints at wanting a statue of himself in this town, I’m officially declaring open season on every puck pusher you send my way.”

And with that, I refill my mug, bracing for whatever this “being nice” thing is going to throw at me. It better not involve actual fruit baskets, though. I draw the line at perishable peace offerings.

The barn’s bustling with more life than a reality TV reunion special as I tuck into my daily grind with a pitchfork in hand. “Hey, Gillian!” I shout to our most committed volunteer who is milking cows like she’s done it her whole life.

“Morning, Angelica. I’m not sure you noticed, but there’s water leaking in the shed again.”

Shoot .

“Thanks, Gillian. The workers should be coming soon, but I’ll see what I can do until then.”

The ranch is in need of a serious makeover, but the basics will have to do until the charity season goes by—assuming the Ice Breakers win. It feels ironic to know that soon I won’t have to worry about all of this, but in the short term, all I can do is worry. And patch up pipes with tape.

I do my best and make my rounds, the day flying by faster than I can keep up with it. Now it’s time for the animals.

Edgar sidles up to me with that endearing look he gets when it’s grooming day. Edgar was my first animal, and sometimes I wonder if he’s the one keeping me in line more than any human. The horses will have to wait.

“Come here, boy.” He’s at my side in half a second, pushing my hand with his nose. “I get it, I get it. I’ll start with your neck.”

That’s when Andy barrels in, towing behind him a whirlwind of a girl. She’s all elbows and knees with a wide smile, a walking testament to the idea that grace is overrated. Honestly, I’m here for it.

“Mom, this is Lil from last night and she only came to Maple Falls like a week ago. We have to clear something up from last night.”

“Hello, Lil’.” She curtsies in her jeans that have an unintentional hole in the knee. “Now, tell me about what needs to be cleared up.” I lean forward on Edgar’s back, which makes him give me the goat side-eye.

“Lil says she knows everything about teamwork because her dad plays hockey ,” Andy declares, puffing out his chest as if he’s dropped the world’s heaviest name drop, minus the actual name.

“I see,” I reply, arching an eyebrow. The barn suddenly feels like the setting for a middle school TED Talk.

Lil nods, her expression dead serious. “Yep. He says it’s like super important. Not just on ice but, like, everywhere.” She opens her arms to refer to the whole, wide world. Her tone suggests she’s relaying wisdom from on high, not from someone who probably still counts birthdays in half years.

Andy, not one to let the spotlight stray far, chimes in. “Well, my mom is basically a superhero. She runs this place and helps a ton of kids with volunteers who come from all over the county.”

I’m not sure if I blushed, but hearing Andy gush makes me want to stand taller and brush it off, both at once.

“If that’s not teamwork, I don’t know what is.” Andy finishes with a cross of his arms and a nod.

I want them to see me taking them seriously, but I can’t stop a silly grin from poking at the sides of my mouth. I hide it behind Edgar, who’s become an unwitting participant in this impromptu summit on societal values.

“Yeah, but my dad also does stuff off the ice. Charity things, you know? He’s making a difference,” Lil counters, her small shoulders squared with conviction. With her unkempt long blonde hair falling in her face and a fierce spirit, she argues points I’d expect from someone twice her age.

“If we don’t take care of the planet, there won’t be a place for hockey or anything else,” Andy shoots back, equally earnest.

These kids are throwing around life lessons like they’re competing for a Nobel Peace Prize, which is the most action this barn’s seen since the other night when a cow thought she was a rooster.

Edgar, clearly not a fan of philosophical debates, voices his opinion with a pointed bleat, effectively ending the round and nuzzling under the brush in my hand. Sometimes, this goat’s got more sense than half the town.

The mention of charity work piques my interest, though. Since she’s the kid from the TV room last night, she’s clearly the daughter of someone on the team. It’s nice to know there’s at least one of them on the Ice Breakers with altruistic values.

They continue their discussions of adventure, leaving me with my thoughts and an unamused Edgar. What about Lil’s unnamed hockey player father? Whoever he is, he’s raising a kid already looking to change the world, one spirited debate at a time.

As I give Edgar another vigorous brush, Andy breaks my train of thought.

“Mom, if you brush any harder, Edgar’s gonna turn into a goat-shaped cloud and float away.”

I pause, looking from the brush in my hand to Edgar’s now overly-fluffed side. “Guess I got a bit carried away. He’s cleaner than our dishes now.”

It’s probably a good time to switch activities before I start giving haircuts to the chickens. “I’m going to check the mail. Show Lil around and tell her the rules of the ranch, okay?” I tell Andy, half-expecting him to charge me fees for his effort.

The walk to the mailbox is short, but I drag it out, enjoying the brief escape from my barnyard salon duties. Pulling open the creaky mailbox, I’m greeted by the usual suspects: bills, an ad for a tractor I can’t afford, and … something official-looking that instantly sets off alarm bells in my head.

The return address is from the Washington State Charities Program, which makes my stomach sink to my mud-caked boots. I rip open the envelope right there, my eyes scanning the letter. I’ve been waiting so long for this opportunity, a chance to expand Happy Horizons beyond this site to be county-wide or even state-wide, and that can only happen if the Charities Program approves it …

PENDING.

Panic seizes me, swift and merciless. The recent attention from the hockey fundraiser was supposed to be a good thing, a spotlight on our efforts, but pending ? I scan the letter, which doesn’t mention hockey for a second, but instead is all about things like a health and safety inspection and a review of accounts.

Lord, help me.

I start pacing, the letter clutched in my hand like a ticking time bomb. The barn roof that leaks when it rains too hard, the plumbing in the rec center that’s more of a suggestion than a system—none of it’s a danger to the kids, but to an inspector with a checklist and no sense of humor? Disaster.

And the accounts? I know what I know—that I only ever spend on the most important things. But I have a pile of receipts that rivals the Eiffel Tower, and that won’t pass for a second with the Charities Program.

I’m fiercely proud of what we’ve built here, of the haven we’ve created for kids who need it most. But pride doesn’t patch roofs, fix pipes, or put paperwork in order. And the last thing I want is for everyone to see the frayed edges I’ve been working so hard to hide. They expect me to have it all together, to be a superwoman in a flannel shirt. The thought of letting them—or the kids—down keeps me up at night.

I have to get this right. If there’s something I could do so that a kid out there doesn’t have to suffer the way I did, it’ll be worth it.

I stuff the letter into my pocket, a lead weight against my thigh.

Happy Horizons is my responsibility. Mine. I’ll fix this, shore up the cracks and polish up the rust. Because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s proving people wrong. And if there’s one thing I refuse to do, it’s fail the kids who count on this place as a safe space to just be kids.

The next hour flies by, and I’m already making lists. Time to dust off the old toolbox and get a worker’s lamp since I’m going to have to work nights around here to fix everything. Come inspection day, Happy Horizons has to shine.

And meanwhile, Troy’s got me “playing nice” with the hockey dudes.

“Dad!” Lil’s voice fills the air and I’m up faster than if I’d sat on a porcupine, smashing my knee into the picnic table as I go. That’s gonna bruise, but curiosity has me in its grip. I scan the driveway from my perching place because I’m dying to find out who this mystery father is.

Lil barrels past me, a tornado of energy, straight into the arms of?—

Coat check guy.

Of course. The universe has a sense of humor, and today, I’m the punchline.

“Lilybug!” Scotty sweeps her up and into his arms like she’s a feather and not a solid preteen.

“Scotty, what a surprise.” I’m trying to act natural, which for me, involves standing with one hand buried in my pocket, clutching that blasted letter like it’s a lifejacket while the other massages my knee. Scotty’s smile is the picture of gentleness and ease, the polar opposite of my internal meltdown.

“Hey there, Angel,” he greets, his voice smooth, eyes crinkling in a way that does funny things to my stomach. “Seems our kids have become fast friends.”

“Yeah, who would’ve thunk it?” I manage to say, my tone aiming for casual but probably landing somewhere in the vicinity of dazed. Play nice. “Funny that of all the people, you’d be Lil’s dad.”

“Really?” his eyes sparkle. “Because I was just thinking the same of this famous ‘Andy’ that Lily couldn’t stop talking about. Seems your boy is a man with a mission.”

Lil is tugging at Scotty’s hand, eager to show off some ranch marvel or other, but he’s focused on me. “This place is amazing. It’s a childhood wonderland.”

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant while my heart’s doing the cha-cha. “Well, it’s no three-pool mansion , but it has its charms.”

That earns me a chuckle, and for goodness’ sake, why does he have to find my awkward attempts at humor charming?

He looks at me with something that resembles sheepishness. “You weren’t too embarrassed by my comment last night? ”

“Embarrassed, no. Feeling guilty for my behavior? Oh, yes,” I admit.

He glances around, then leans in slightly, dropping his voice. “So, is there a Mr. Angel I should be introduced to? You know, to avoid any future foot-in-mouth situations?”

The question throws me off, a little tizzy of something uninvited dancing in my chest. “Nope, there’s no Mr. Angel. Only me, Andy, and a barn full of beasts.”

“Good to know,” he says, and I swear there’s something brewing, but he doesn’t give anything more away.

Meanwhile, my tummy is doing a square dance.

“Come on, Dad!” Lil pulls harder on him, and I remember the letter, the impending review by the Charities Program, and the thousand reasons why I don’t have time for whatever my traitorous heart thinks it wants.

“Well, you’d better go have a look before your poor girl explodes with energy,” I say, steering the conversation safely away from dangerous waters. “I’m sorry I can’t join you, but I have, uh, business to attend to.”

That’s not a lie. Sorting my finances, dealing with the contractors from Fix-It-All, and being nice to the hockey team just might kill me. But the most important thing is that Happy Horizons doesn’t suffer just as it’s about to get its biggest break.

Scotty laughs, a sound that seems to resonate straight through to my core. “I’d better , huh? See you around, Angel.” He gives me a little salute before reaching for his daughter.

As they walk away—Lil chattering and Scotty listening like it’s the most important conversation in the world—it’s easy to forget about the letter sitting heavily in my pocket. The picture of the two of them takes me to a different world. Scotty wraps his arm around Lil’s shoulders and the two walk off like it’s the best day of their lives.

Now, that’s a dad.

And my belly just did that funny something again. I seriously hope it was indigestion.