Page 36 of The Snowflake Effect

This time I chuckle, that damn machine so annoying it’s almost funny. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Permission granted,” I say without talking into the mouthpiece, then I drop my arms.

She clicks over in her heels, her full hips swaying with each step. Today’s outfit is on the tame side, but her pinup image is alive and well: pink hair piled on her head, tight polka-dot blouse, and a fitted skirt.

She plants a hand on her hip and fixes her attention on me. “My friend Emily is still single, and I think you guys would hit it off.”

Sawyer snorts. “Does her hair look like it’s been dunked in Kool-Aid, too?”

She purses her pink lips. “Another joke about my hair and Lily will get an anonymous tip in her inbox about a certain sticky cellphone.”

Sawyer matches her thin lips and raises her a glare. “Don’t you dare.” Then he juts his chin toward me. “You’re on your own with this, but I say go for it. Even if she looks like one of those troll dolls. Stella wouldn’t risk her job by setting you up with a nutter…or by sending that e-mail,” he adds before muttering, “We really need walls in here.”

Still intent on me, Stella rubs her hands together. “So?”

Strange clamminess coats my palms. “What’s she like?”

“Sweet. Outgoing and funny.”

My mind jumps to Shay, wondering if Emily will argue with me and push my buttons. If she’ll tell me to fuck off like a certain fiery Irish woman. If she’d be the type to lie on the snow with me, tracing letters on my skin.

Volatile. Combustible. Unpredictable.

Aside from our few intimate moments, those four days with Shay were like a retelling of Jack White’s song “Love Interruption,” a passion so intense that a knife to my gut, a punch to my face, or a shotgun to my temple would maybe simulate the level of emotion she inspired.

In four days.

But the thing that has my eyes widening and my heart pounding is that I’m not worrying Emily won’t compare to Marina. My benchmark. The one true thing I know. I’m sure as shit she won’t hold a candle to Shay.

When the hell did this happen?

Shay has lived at the edges of my thoughts the past two months. She’s hijacked every one of my dreams, and the idea of her going on a date with someone else has my molars grinding. Dating someone in Vancouver won’t change these feelings. No matter how many excuses I offer up, I can’t ditch that underwear, and I can’t get Shay off my brain.

“Nope. Not going on a date.” My clamminess subsides as I shake my head, a plan forming with every twist of my neck.

I’ve avoided contacting Shay, always worried there’s no point. With our lives and homes where they are, we can’t make this work long term. Separating Jackson from Marina’s mother would be tough, when he’s all she has left of her daughter, and I have no idea how I’d be able to work long term in Toronto. But I’m tired of planning five years ahead.

With work I’m always forecasting: bank statements, bills, expansion. With Jackson it’s after-school programs, daycare, babysitting, never living in the moment—organization and planning is my Holy Grail. I need to shake things up, grab the reins of life, and convince Shay to go out with me.

Stella watches me a moment, a more intense look on her face than usual.

“What?” I ask.

“I thought you wanted to go after something more permanent, and Shay is the opposite of that.”

“I thought this was my life to live.”

“Point taken,” she says, still assessing me as she returns to her desk.

I don’t have time for Stella’s dramatics. I nod to Sawyer. “We still have to hire a design firm for the Toronto expansion, and the ones you’ve sent me aren’t jibing. If we don’t find someone in the next few weeks, we’ll be screwed.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been drowning in work.”

“No worries. I’ll take that task over. I have some ideas.” That include Shay, I don’t add.

“Cool.” He leaves our office with a wave.

The new shop needs to knock people on their asses. Not one of those fancy firms Sawyer has spoken with has given any indication they get our edgy, rock-and-roll image. They hear things like “ski jackets” and “outdoor gear” and “hiking shorts” and each one tries to guide us toward country chic, designs packed with log beams and rustic décor.

I may not get overly involved with the creative side of our business, but image is everything. I’ve pored over architecture and design magazines, hoping to feel the same excitement I felt when I studied Shay’s sketches in Aspen—that cool hanging wall, how she talked about funky tattoo-inspired spaces.