Page 102 of The Snowflake Effect

“Just the Way You Are”

He was serious about the wooing.

Leaning back, I close my eyes as I listen to Jack White’s “Love Interruption,” his raw voice demanding love’s pain. The torture. The sweet agony. That or nothing.

Pat Benatar’s “We Belong” drums into my chest next, her message loud and clear: for better or for worse, there’s no denying love.

By the time Ne-Yo’s “Together” plays, a tear slips down my cheek, his smooth R & B rhythm telling of devotion, lingering scars from past relationships, and healing.

Then there’s Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are.”

As the last note plays, the car stops. Timed perfectly with the music. I wipe my cheeks and sit up, full to brimming with everything I’ve denied myself the past weeks. For a lifetime, really. It’s dark outside, but the Toronto Convention Center is recognizable, as is the outline of a figure by the entrance—hair loose to his shoulders, thumbs hanging on his pockets.

My heart skips a beat. Kolton.

CHAPTER 44

KOLTON

The second the cruiser pulls up, I stop pacing. I was pretty sure Shay would play along with my plan—get in the car and listen to the playlist. With her, though, there’s always a chance she could misinterpret my intentions. Write a paragraph between each of my lines.

I can make out her profile in the backseat, but I can’t see her face. Eric helps her out and they exchange words. Then she faces me.

She bites her lip. I rake my hand through my hair.

Eric drives off, leaving us.

Normally, I’m a patient guy. Attention to detail is my forté, but following through with the rest of my plan means not kissing Shay right now. Not dragging her into a dark corner to show her how much she’s been missed. Her curls are blowing in the wind, her brown leather jacket brushing the top of her jeans, and my willpower wanes.

But she deserves everything. The full wooing.

She approaches slowly, her motorcycle boots loud on the pavement. She stops a foot in front of me. “Come here often?”

I step closer, until we’re inches apart, her hair within reach. “Only if feisty Irish women are lurking about.”

“Looks like today’s your lucky day.” She glances down, humor fading from her face. She closes her eyes, and her breath catches. “Kolton…”

“I know,” I say quickly. I take her hand, weaving our fingers together. “Will you come inside with me?”

I grip her hand tighter, thrilled to be touching her again, but nervous, too. She may have come this far, but it doesn’t mean she’ll hear me out.

When she doesn’t answer, I say, “Maybe I should’ve paved the way with cupcakes.”

“Such an asshole,” she says, fighting a smile.

I tug her toward the entrance. “That’s my bitch.”

Once I’ve locked the door behind us, I lead her through the maze of booths: snowboards, skis, clothing, and gear line each space. Our feet echo on the tile floor. The organizer, Jim, was true to his word that we’d be alone. It took some coaxing to get him and Nico’s buddy to participate, but free ski jackets make for good bartering.

The Moondog section is around the next corner, my palms sweatier with each step. When we round the bend, Shay freezes at the sight. My company name is decaled on a large glass dome, the interior filled with evergreen trees and merchandise. A life-size snow globe.

Her gaze roams its girth. “Impressive.”

“That’s what all the ladies say.”

She chuckles. “Still a child.”

“Actually, what’s impressive is getting that dome up and organized in three weeks. Sawyer did a lot of sweet talking. Lily helped, too.” I start on my way, but she doesn’t budge.