Page 37 of The Snowflake Effect

I straighten up, determination setting in.

Shay’s edgy designs are exactly what the new shop needs, and I’m clearly not over her. She’ll be pissed I lied about Moondog. For a short while, at least. Seeing her eyes flare and cheeks flush with anger would be an added bonus. Safer not to tell Sawyer, then. Throw off my scent before my intentions make their way from him to Lily to Shay. Wouldn’t want to miss any of her righteous indignation.

And if I play my cards right, we could have a whole summer together.

Reaching for my jacket on the back of my chair, I fish out my cell and pull up Shay’s number, thankful Sawyer dropped it on my desk all those weeks ago. I type a message and hit Send before I can think twice.

Me: Every time I’m in a bathroom, I think of you. It’s Kolton, by the way.

My phone buzzes a second later, the air suddenly electric.

Shay: Because it burns when you pee?

I laugh—a bark of a sound that has Stella looking at me like I’ve sprouted horns.

Me: Did you lie about your sexual history?

Shay: I *may* have fibbed.

Me: Bitch.

Shay: Asshole.

Shay: Actually, I’m in a bathroom right now. I’m out on a date.

I grip my phone more tightly. Toronto is three hours ahead. Her night is just starting… with another man. I type: What’s he like? Because I’m a masochist.

All I get is radio silence and immediately regret pushing her.

Until:

Shay: His hair is too short.

I played basketball in school. The high I’d get when I’d sink a three-pointer would carry me for hours. But this? Right now? This is a basket from half-court, nothing but net.

Warmth surges through my chest.

Me: Tell me more.

Shay: He’s way too polite. And he blinks a lot.

I chuckle. Time to quit while I’m ahead. Keep things light with Shay. Avoid freaking her out.

Me: I hope you have a shitty night.

She replies with a smiley face.

When I put my phone down, Stella says, “This’ll be interesting.”

Her grin is so wide, there’s no point denying that I texted Shay. “It’s not a big deal. Probably just a summer thing. Or maybe not. I honestly have no clue what I’m doing, but not a word to Sawyer.”

She salutes me.

I check my watch. I’ll need to get out of here in the next ten minutes to pick Jackson up from Caroline’s—Marina’s mother is always eager to watch her grandson—then it’s off to the library before it closes. We’re still on E in the Encyclopedia Britannica, and I promised him we’d get to F by the time we leave for Toronto.

I push back from my desk and gather my things. In three weeks, I’ll be in Toronto with Stella and Jackson—Stella having agreed to help me out with my son. That’s twenty-one days to text Shay more often. Soften her. Remind her how intense our chemistry is.

Then comes the ambush.