Page 39 of The Snowflake Effect

I’m about to admit how great it is to see him when a kid with the same brown eyes as Kolton, and the same sandy hair, tugs on his hand. “Daddy, you won’t believe it. You won’t. They have an urban dictionary.”

I stand, frozen, my smile slipping, as the boy waves the book in Kolton’s face.

“And,” the kid goes on, “it says right here an F-bomb isn’t a bomb at all. It means fuck. But that F isn’t in the big Bri-ta-nni-ca book. Can we get it? Please? I need it so bad.” Then he pushes his glasses up his nose, turns to Granny between us, and hollers, “Did you know an F-bomb wasn’t a bomb?”

I want to laugh at this crazy kid and the old lady whose eyes are the size of saucers, but the young boy said “Daddy” while tugging Kolton’s hand. Daddy.

The butterflies that swarmed when I first saw him rush out at once, leaving me nauseous.

Kolton has a child? Like, an actual kid with his DNA?

Not knowing this massive detail about him is more than shocking. My vision swims and my lungs pump too fast. Does this mean he has a family? A wife he goes home to? Every phone call he ran to grab while in Aspen had “I’m married” written all over it. Except, a kid doesn’t mean marriage. I may barely know Kolton, but I can’t imagine him being a cheater.

Still, I feel so blindsided my hands shake.

“Credit card.” I turn to the cashier. “Credit card, okay? So type as fast as you can in that machine of yours. I’m in a rush.”

I bounce my knee as I dirty-look Cashier Boy for no good reason, until he finally instructs me to insert my card into the machine. Then I wait and wait and freaking wait for the minicomputer to ask me for my PIN.

“Shay.” Kolton’s voice slices through me as I tap the side of the stupid piece of metal.

I don’t turn. I feel like I want to cry. I still don’t understand why, but I will not lose my composure in front of Kolton again. God, what is wrong with me?

“Did you stick it in?” Cashier Boy asks.

I glare at him. “Yes. I stuck it in.”

“Stick it in harder.”

Kolton laughs, his deep rumble curling around me. “Go ahead,” the Asshole says. “Stick it in harder.”

I swivel, ready to tell him exactly where I’m going to stick something harder, when I remember his son—Kolton’s mini-me—who’s watching our interaction with wide eyes. I clamp my mouth shut and slam the heel of my hand against the card. The terminal wakes up.

PIN in, receipt given, and I’m about to bolt when Kolton says, “Come on, Shay. We didn’t talk about life stuff in Aspen. Just wait, okay? Let me explain.”

The truth in his words stops me. Every time talk between us veered toward my romantic past or my stalled career, I changed the topic. I didn’t ask about his “important” calls. He didn’t offer personal information, either. He’s probably divorced or had a surprise pregnancy with a former girlfriend. We were clearly both relishing the break from real life and our own drama, but this curveball is unexpected. I feel duped when he’s done no such thing.

“Shay,” he says again, softer this time.

My name on his lips keeps me rooted. Unable to resist another glance at him, I turn.

And blink.

A hot pinup woman puts her hand on Kolton’s shoulder and says something I can’t hear. He smiles in return. I glance from her to him and back again. No family resemblance. She has flawless skin, pink hair, vibrant tattoos snaking down her arms, and blue eyes.

She’s breathtaking, which maybe accounts for the loss of air in my lungs, but not the sudden burn behind my eyes.

I’m sure there’s another explanation here. She’s a friend or his ex or a sex-buddy who believes in open relationships. Something will justify his recent texts, which leaned toward flirtatious, and what I’m seeing now. But my intense reaction isn’t good.

I shouldn’t feel this much irrational jealousy over a man I hardly know. A man with a son. Just like I shouldn’t have cried on his shoulder after the first time we had sex. Nothing with Kolton is ever easy, my emotions often haywire around him, and that should tell me all I need to know about any future for us.

Frazzled, I spin and strut away, as Kolton calls, “Wait! Shay, can we please talk?”

Hard nope to that.

Since he’s blocked by the three-thousand-year-old lady, I’m able to get in my car and speed off to work without facing him. Thank God we have that big meeting this morning. Anything to help me forget how much of a mess I am around this guy.

CHAPTER 16