Page 103 of The Snowflake Effect

I’m about to get on bended knee and plead with her to let me say my piece, when she squeezes my hand.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice cracks, thick with emotion. “I mean, I’m still hurt you walked away, but I understand how hard Marina’s loss must still be on you. I’m also starting to realize that the job at Concept⁠—”

I press a finger to her lips. Those soft, full lips. This isn’t her apology to give. She was willing to give us a shot, eventually move her life for me, but I wouldn’t meet her halfway, earning me the name Asshole.

“We’ll hash everything out,” I say. “All of it. But there’s something I need to show you first.”

Her hazel eyes flick to the dome then back to me. “Okay.”

Fingers intertwined, I lead, and she follows.

The second I open the glass door, Shay squeals. She tries to run inside, but I won’t release her hand, so she jerks backward. Recovering quickly, she kicks the fake snow, scattering the calf-deep flakes.

She jumps like Jackson. “How did you do this? It’s amazing. And are those Lily’s purses?” She’s dragging me now, touring through the white-tipped evergreens and displays, thick “snow” fluttering with each step. Moondog jackets hang off giant molded icicles. Purses, hats, and scarves line iceberg-shaped shelves. “Seriously,” she murmurs, “it’s beautiful.”

When she pauses in the center of the room, I pull her toward me and finally weave my hands into her curls. “You’re beautiful,” I say.

Her eyes search mine, questioning. I’m not supposed to kiss her. Not yet. The plan was to wait until after the big finish, but I’m a man. Weak. Hungry for her. And not all plans are meant to be followed.

I kiss her sure and deep, until she falls into me. I’m not tentative, in no way gentle. My frustration and angst these past weeks flow out. She grabs my neck, nails scraping my skin, and the more our tongues slide, the louder I groan, each pass shooting fire down my spine.

I nip her bottom lip. “I’ve missed you, Connor.”

She brushes her nose against mine. “I almost overdosed on cupcakes.”

We kiss again. Once. Twice. A third time for good measure.

Then I square our shoulders and cup her cheeks, still amazed she’s here. With me. Hopefully, willing to accept my apology.

“Here’s the deal, Shay.” I breathe through the pinching in my chest until the pressure eases. “I love you.”

I have to pause and swallow. She releases the softest sigh.

“I love you,” I say again, because I have to. “I haven’t said those words to a woman in a long time. I didn’t realize how fucking scared I was to feel this much for another person again, but I do feel it, and I’m ready to risk my heart on you, because you’re it for me, Shay. You’re stubborn and opinionated and smart and funny, and I don’t want to be with anyone else. If you love your job at Concept and want to stay here, we can work it out. Do the long-distance thing. I can come here in the summers when Jackson’s off school. I’ll fly you down during any and all vacation time you have. We’ll do what we have to. I trust you, and I trust us. I’m ready to live a full life, which means living that life with you.”

I search her face for any sign she’s still willing to forgive me, but it’s hard to tell. I pushed her away. She told me she loved me, and I walked out on us.

Unable to endure her silence, I go on. “I know there will be times you’re worried you’re losing your independence. I’m sure we’ll lose ourselves in each other a bit, doing things to make the other person happy. It happens to all couples. It takes effort to keep things fresh, to maintain our likes and dislikes. Our individuality.”

I release her face and, leaning to the side, I feel for the button I had installed on a nearby shelf. With one press, Van Morrison’s “Sweet Thing” pipes through the speakers, his guitar strumming while the snow at our feet blows upward into the air.

“If you ever feel like you’re becoming a snowball, Shay, I promise you we’ll shake things up.”

She tips her head back, individual flakes brushing her cheeks. A tear slips through her lashes, and my throat burns. I want so much for Shay. For her to shine, to believe in herself. To trust that, together, we can make each other better. If I can’t do that for her, I’ll walk away. Getting over her is a mountain I’d rather not climb, but I’d do it for her.

I lean in and kiss her tear-soaked lashes. “Will you try this with me? Be apart but together? Always shaking things up?”

She winds her arms around my waist and rubs her eyes on my long-sleeve T-shirt, leaving a wet splotch on my shoulder. “No, Kolton. I can’t.”

The snow is blowing, billowing around us, her brown curls covered in flakes, and my breathing turns erratic, more oxygen coming in than going out. That’s it. I fucked everything up. My fear over the past has ruined my future.

I move to pull away, but she lifts her head and slides her hands lower. Over my ass.

I’m not a praying man. I didn’t attend church like Caroline to ease my heart when Marina passed, but right now, with Shay’s hands on me, I say a silent please, God, hoping this means she’s not leaving.

Eyes still damp, she shakes her head. “I can’t do long distance with you. It would be too hard, but I will move to Vancouver. I’ll put my baggage aside and try, because…I love you, too. So much. Your temper and persistence, and”—she smiles as a snowflake lands on her nose—“the wooing. There’s also the hair. I really, really, love your hair. And I miss Jackson like crazy. So, if choice A is still on offer, I’d like to try living out West.”

My throat closes, disbelief and awe stunning me. Temporarily. Then I crush her to my chest and kiss her again, sealing our fate. She’s coming home with me, risking everything for me. I press my forehead to hers. “You bet it’s still on offer.”