Page 38 of The Snowflake Effect

CHAPTER 15

SHAY

“Crap.” I duck behind my grocery cart as the Blinker stalks down my row. Thankfully, he finds what he’s after and walks back out the way he came before noticing me. Never again will I trust Lily and her set ups. This guy is awesome. I promise. You’ll really like him.

Running errands for Cruella is more pleasurable than listening to the Blinker last month drone on about his carwash run-in (blink) and the “negligent asshole” (blink) who scratched his precious BMW. (Blink. Blink. Blink.) I barely refrained from shoving eye drops in his hand as I lied about needing to get home early…

So I could reread Kolton’s texts.

The Blinker must have thought I was nuts, smiling like a loon after I returned from the bathroom. Why, two months after the fact, Kolton decided to reach out, I have no idea. And the timing of it? While I was on my first date since Aspen? It was like he knew I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Still, stubborn as always, I wasn’t ready to give up on my dating quest.

I should have.

The dude who chewed cinnamon gum (who chews cinnamon gum?) and the Suit who looked way too Richard for my liking had me ready to join a convent.

Last night’s guy was the worst.

He was funny and cute with no serial-killer tendencies, but his eyes were too blue, his opinions too agreeable. He wasn’t Kolton.

I kicked myself (literally) the second I realized how messed up that was. My date, David, asked if I was okay as I winced and rubbed my ankle. My honest reply slipped out before I could stop it. “No. I am not okay.”

For the next twenty minutes, he checked his watch a dozen times, and then we left early.

Not that I blame him. I blame Kolton.

Kolton and his perfect hair and full lips and obnoxious attitude, and the cute texts he’s continued to send me.

Kolton, the Asshole, who’s coming to Toronto. He hasn’t mentioned seeing me, and I’ve avoided the subject, too. We joke. We tease. But, for some reason, over the past three weeks, neither of us has taken a step forward.

At least something’s buzzing at Concept, enough whispers and excitement circulating in our small design firm of four to keep my mind off Kolton, my crappy dates, and my housing dilemma. I’ve earned some killer commission during my extra shifts at Sass and Style, but I’m still short on cash. With my court date approaching, that leaves me three weeks before I’m lounging on the street, cup in hand, a cardboard sign reading Too Ugly to Prostitute.

Maybe whatever’s brewing at Concept is big enough that I’ll get to show off my skill, something to catapult me from unpaid intern to associate designer. Secret meetings have abounded the past few days, talk of some amazing account about to be signed. Maeve has been barkier than usual, earning her Cruella nickname, her clipped tone sending me off this morning for raw cane sugar and gluten-free cookies.

God forbid white sugar or flour should touch the tongue of an important client.

I’m at the cash register, sifting through my purse to extricate my wallet, when I hear, “Shay?”

The hairs on my neck stand at attention, that voice flowing through me like molten lava.

Kolton.

I whip my head up and, oh my God, it’s him. Here. In this store. Right now. Staring at me. He opens his mouth, closes it, then he steps closer, but there’s an elderly lady behind me putting her groceries on the conveyer belt.

One. Item. At a time.

“Shay,” he says again, a statement now. The syllable rolls off his tongue seductively, like we’re back in Aspen—on that chair, in the snow, kissing in the bar.

No two-hundred-year-old lady between us.

He looks the same, maybe better. His worn jeans hug his hips, his just-tight-enough blue T-shirt showing off the chest I never got to see. His dark eyes are warmer, his shoulders thicker. I want to reach around Granny and pull the elastic from his hair to check if it has grown.

“Kolton,” I whisper as the cashier asks something about cash or credit.

How perfect to meet him here, fate intervening on my behalf. After my string of bad dates, Kolton constantly lurking in the back of my mind and on my phone, this suddenly feels right. Destined. The beginning of something more mature between us.

Three months ago, I wasn’t ready for our chemistry. My life isn’t exactly where I planned now, but my emotions feel more even keeled. Steady and less volatile.

Smiling, I push my loose curls over my shoulder, pleased I wore my best red blouse and gray skirt for today’s big meeting.