The Parent Playbook (Love on Thin Ice)

15. Angel

CHAPTER 15

ANGEL

ONE WEEK LATER

D o not panic. Do not panic.

Just because a crowd of journalists and Mr. Fancy Pants, Zach Hart himself, are all coming to Happy Horizons today is no reason for me to?—

“Angel?”

“GAH!”

Panic.

Scotty raises his hands like I’m about to read him his rights. “I’m here to report that the fence is almost like new.” Scotty wipes sweat from his brow with a grin that shows he’s all too pleased with himself. This past week he has been indispensable. There’s no chance I could have gotten everything ready without him.

I sigh and lean against the porch railing, clipboard in hand, trying to make sense of a checklist that’s more coffee stains than text.

“Hey, look around,” he says. “It’s all happening.”

The ranch is swarming like a kicked anthill. Volunteers dash about, dragging decorations and equipment into place and giving the barn a last-minute paint touch-up. It’s bedlam, the kind you can only appreciate if you’re either very optimistic or completely out of your mind.

Pretty sure I’m the latter.

“This fence is as good as a hat trick!” Scotty shouts to me on the porch.

“You know, before you showed up, the most I knew about hockey was that it’s basically yard work on ice,” I say as I scratch Fix fence post that has been dead for ten years off the list.

“And now you’re practically a pro, right? Since you’ve got the lingo, you should try out for the Ice Breakers. We could use someone with your command of a to do list.”

“Oh, ha-ha. Watch it, or I’ll make you explain icing to me again,” I retort. It’s weird, this easy banter we’ve fallen into, like stepping into a pair of comfortable shoes I forgot I owned.

Over the past week, Scotty’s become a staple around here, fixing more than fences. There’s an easiness to him that fills up spaces I didn’t know were empty. Lily and Andy are thick as thieves. They’ve taken to each other like ducks to water, conspiring in corners, and thankfully they set up chairs under the oak tree for the visit of Zach Hart and his media entourage.

It’s finally happening—Zach Hart and his team of Ice Breakers are bringing the spotlight right to our muddy, well-loved doorstep.

“I never thought I’d see the day when my little project would get this kind of attention,” I admit, the words carrying a weight I hadn’t seen coming. “Or that I’d ever discuss defensive plays over breakfast. But that’s what I’m going to need with these hawks of journalists.”

Scotty steps closer to me, his boots clacking on the porch steps. “You’ve built something amazing here, Angel. Today’s about letting the rest of the world see it. Plus, you’re a natural in front of a camera—pretend it’s me testing you again about the offside rule.”

“Heaven help us all if it comes to that,” I say as the sound of gravel crunching announces the first news van. Taking a deep breath, I straighten up and tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “Showtime, huh?”

Scotty nods, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this. And hey, I’m right here if you need to throw something at someone who understands icing.”

Zach Hart strides onto Happy Horizons with the air of a man used to commanding attention, his following of cameras and reporters scattering across the grounds. It’s downright bizarre to hear them, chatter about opening shots and the hum of recording equipment, nothing like our daily rustic scene.

“Angelica Davis,” Zach Hart—I feel like I always have to call him by his full name—stretches out his hand and shakes mine. He tilts his head to the side. “I like a firm grip on an entrepreneur. Thank you for letting us stop by.”

“Letting you stop by? You’re practically a godsend around here.” Nice opening. “I mean, thank you so much for coming. Sir.”

“Sir?” He laughs from somewhere deep. “Please. I wish I could do half of what you’ve done here. Now let’s show it off to the world.”

For a big-headed billionaire, there’s something awfully authentic about him.

Around us, the usual ranch chaos is subtly orchestrated into showcase vignettes for the media. Kids are enthusiastically involved in an impromptu petting zoo session. They hand feed the goats and introduce bashful reporters to our resident rabbits, offering snippets of knowledge like little professors.

“Goats prefer to nibble on this because it’s sweet,” one precocious youngster explains, holding up a piece of apple to a bemused journalist who’s clearly more accustomed to political scandals than agricultural trivia.

“I mean, look at this,” a reporter nearby speaks into her microphone as she gestures broadly at the scene. “This place isn’t just a charity, it’s a lifeline. Zach Hart isn’t throwing money around at anything that sticks, instead he’s planting seeds for the future.” Her colleague nods, his lens focused on a group of children painting a mural.

Zach himself is in his element, weaving through the crowd, his presence somewhere between celebrity and philanthropist. He pauses to chat with a little girl about her drawing, his smile genuine enough that I can almost forget my usual skepticism. Almost.

Despite the cameras, there’s a buzz that even my hardened heart can’t ignore. Happy Horizons is under the spotlight, and it’s my turn to face the cluster of mics heading this way, ready to spin our story into the evening news.

As a camera points squarely in my direction, the butterflies in my stomach do a nervous dance. I’m clutching my notes to save me from the dreaded empty brain, but they might as well be written in ancient Greek for all the good they’re doing me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Scotty behind the cameraman, but he’s not pulling faces this time. Instead, he gives me a thumbs up.

“Ms. Davis, what will this increased funding allow you to do here at Happy Horizons?” asks the reporter, her camera-ready smile wide as she motions expansively toward the bustling activities around the ranch.

Scotty gives me a look like I’ve got this all in the bag. Fake it ’til you make it …

“This funding would be transformative. If the Ice Breakers win, we will be able to expand our programs across the entire county.” I hear my own voice growing more confident with each word. “We’re building bridges here. For many kids and families, these programs are their only chance at creating a positive environment for their children—offering education, recreation, and support in a safe environment. For example, we’ve got a wonderful partnership with Falling for Books in town. Our monthly book box from them arrived yesterday, and if you set your cameras over there, you’ll see the kids—the ones who other folks have written off—poring over stories and getting inspiration for their future.” I give a silent thanks to Emmy Roberts who has never let us down. It was her idea to do these book boxes, and it gives kids the perfect down time after an active morning.

Scotty is still watching, arms crossed and head tilted like he’s taking in every word.

“With the initial investment from Zach Hart, we can at least double our outreach.” I glance over to see Zach Hart looking as happy as a pig in mud. “And if the Ice Breakers win, we can introduce mobile units that go to where the kids are, ensuring no child is left out. It’s about accessibility and equality, ensuring every child has the chance to enjoy being a kid, to learn and grow without worry.”

The reporter nods, scribbling notes vigorously.

I continue, inspired by the topic and Scotty’s unwavering gaze. “For example, today’s media exposure isn’t only about raising funds, but about raising awareness. It’s showing that what we do matters, that these kids matter. And if someone out there feels moved enough to make a donation, we’re here to show how much good it really can do.”

“Thank you so much, Ms. Davis. That’s amazing, on so many fronts.”

As the interview wraps up, Scotty walks around the edge of the camera’s view, leaning back to avoid ending up in the shot.

“You nailed it,” he whispers as the crew moves on, his hand briefly touching my back.

As the last reporter packs away her microphone, Zach Hart strides over, his presence as big as ever amidst the dispersing crowd. He claps me on the shoulder, a broad smile stretching across his face.

“Angel, that was outstanding,” he beams, his gaze sweeping over the ranch with clear approval. “What you’ve accomplished here is more than impressive. It’s vital.”

I nod, trying to mask the pride his words bring. Zach’s praise isn’t fluff; it’s the pinnacle of years of hard work and heart poured into every corner of Happy Horizons.

He then turns slightly, catching Scotty’s eye with a conspiratorial wink. “And I see you’ve got top-notch support.” His tone is light, teasing almost, and it’s clear he’s not talking about the ranch work.

Scotty plays along, grinning back with a casual shrug. As Zach walks away, leaving Scotty and me behind, I’m left again with a fluttery sensation in my stomach.

Except this time I’m riding too much of a high to remember that I don’t like this feeling.

“Did I do it?” I ask Scotty, who looks almost as excited as I am. “Did I really do it?”

“Yeah, you did!” He reaches for me, his strong arms pulling me into a whirl of motion as he spins me around in a celebratory hug that lifts my feet off the ground.

“I did it,” I whisper, and my lips touch the edge of his ear. The rush of air, the strength of his grip, his stubbled cheek against mine, I’m laughing and breathless. But as he sets me down, the laughter fades into a charged silence. Our eyes lock, and for a heartbeat, it feels like the entire world narrows down to just the two of us. His face is closer than I expected, and unexpectedly, our lips brush.

Tender, fleeting, and electrifying.

The romantic tension crackles between us, a tangible force that pulls us closer. I can see the surprise mirrored in his eyes, like my own racing thoughts.

Is this really happening? It’s not a dream?

The crunch of gravel cuts through our bubble.

Scotty steps back, a sheepish yet playful smile spreading across his face as he tilts his head toward the noise.

“What, is that another media van coming to catch this scandal?” he jokes, but I hear a hint of disappointment in his voice too .

The moment of what-could-have-been hangs briefly in the air before we both turn to see what’s approaching.

As we turn toward the sound, a fancy 4x4 truck pulls into view. I recognize it immediately—but I sure wish I didn’t.

Scotty leans in closer. “You know who that is?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod, a tight feeling coiling in my stomach. “Yeah, that’s the Maple Falls Middle School Principal.”

Before I can add anything else, the truck door swings open and out step Lily and Andy, both sporting expressions that can only spell trouble. Their chins are high, but guilt is written all over their faces as they shuffle toward us. Behind them, the principal steps out, her expression stern, her demeanor as stiff as the creases in her blouse.

I exhale slowly and lean toward Scotty. “And it’s not good news.”