“They’d love that,” Wyatt says, glancing at me with a smile. “They’ve been asking when Snow will visit Texas.”
My heart does a little flip. Meeting his parents in person. Another step forward, another integration of our lives. The thought doesn’t scare me. It feels right.
After dinner, my dad pulls out his guitar and sings an old folk song. We all join in, our voices blending in slightly off-key harmony. I look across the table at Wyatt, singing along even though he doesn’t know all the words, a happy smile on his face.
Later, as we’re getting ready to leave, my dad pulls me aside while Wyatt helps my mom pack up leftover bread for us to take home.
“That one’s a keeper, Snow-flower,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “He knows the value of things that can’t be bought.”
“I know, Dad.”
“Good.” He pulls me into a hug. “Don’t let fear make you hesitate. Not with this one. He’s the real thing.”
As we drive away from the farm, my heart full and the car filled with the scent of fresh-cut herbs from my mom’s garden, I think about my dad’s words. Don’t let fear make you hesitate.
I glance at Wyatt, at his profile in the dim light of the dashboard, and I realize something. The shadow of Preston — the shame and the fear and the feeling of not being good enough — is finally fading.
Chapter 27
Snow
Six weeks after Wyatt’s gallery speech, I’m finally building the life I dreamed of. My business is growing, I have clients who value my work, and I’m standing on solid ground.
Until the email arrives on a Tuesday morning.
I read it three times before the words fully penetrated.
After careful consideration, Mitchell, Grant & Associates has decided to terminate our consulting agreement effective immediately. While we were initially impressed with your strategic vision, recent concerns about your personal stability have led us to question whether you’re the right fit for our company’s needs.
My hands are shaking as I set down my coffee mug. This was supposed to be my big break. The contract that would prove I could make it on my own. And now it’s gone, yanked away with vague accusations about my “personal stability.”
The words feel like Preston’s voice in my head.You’re not stable. You’re not capable. You need me.
My phone rings, and I grab it desperately.
“Snow?” Nico’s voice is tight with worry. “I just heard. Are you okay?”
“How did you—?”
“Word travels fast.” I can hear her moving around, probably grabbing her keys. “I’m coming over.”
“Nico, I don’t understand. Everything was fine. What changed?”
“I have a theory about that,” she says grimly. “Give me thirty minutes.”
While I wait for Nico, I pace my cottage. The panic is rising, that old familiar feeling of everything crumbling.
Thirty minutes later, Nico storms in, her eyes blazing with fury.
“It was Preston,” she says without preamble.
“What?”
“Preston sabotaged you. He called Mitchell & Grant’s investors, voicing concerns about your mental stability. He suggested you’re having an emotional breakdown.”
The room spins. “He’s destroying everything I’ve built.”
“He’stryingto.” Nico sits beside me, her hand warm on my shoulder. “He still thinks he can get you back. He wants you dependent. Wants you to think you can’t survive without him.”
