Page 48 of The Snowflake Effect

Hilary cringes. “That’s thoughtful, but I don’t eat fast food.” She points a manicured nail at the McDonald’s emblem.

“That’s for Shay, not you.” I sift through the bags and pull out the chicken curry sandwich she mentioned going out for the other day. I hand it over, and she peeks inside.

“Wow, that’s…” Her keen dark eyes roam over my face, as if meeting me for the first time. She runs a hand over her pantsuit. “Thank you. I’m surprised you remembered.”

I shrug and lean over the table, separating the other lunches. “There’s sushi for Ramiro, with the rice on the outside, some gluten-free thing for Maeve, and there’s a whack of burritos in here for the guys. And this”—I grab the greasy McDonald’s bag and hold it out—“is for Shay.”

She’s not looking at me, though. Not even a side glance. Her puckered brows are focused on the other food. Shit. Maybe she’s suddenly gone on some silly diet.

Hilary glances between us, then grabs the burritos and her sandwich. “I’ll take these to the workers.” She raises her bag toward me in salute. “Thanks again. We’ll meet here tomorrow morning.”

I nod and look back at Shay, who’s watching me, my outstretched hand still clutching her lunch.

She cocks her head to the side. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“No. I didn’t. I wanted to do this. You’ve all been putting in long hours.”

“How did you even know what everyone eats?”

I shrug. “I pay attention.”

“That’s really nice of you,” she murmurs.

Her thick-lashed eyes flit back to the other food, like she’s not used to people being thoughtful. And she still hasn’t reached for the bag I’m holding out for her. If she’s not eating fries, today’s plan is toast. Frustrated, I start to tug my arm back.

She shoots her hand out to stop me. “Not a move, Fabio. That’s mine.”

I smile. Game on.

I run a hand through my shoulder-length hair. “I’m doing a shirtless photo shoot later. You should come.”

She snorts. “Only if I get to wax your chest.”

I bark out a laugh, the two of us suddenly grinning unabashedly at each other.

She snatches the bag from my hand and walks over to a nearby bench. She brushes the bench off, not that it does much good with the drywall dust coating every square inch. When she’s settled, she opens the bag, sticks her nose in, and inhales.

Burrito and a couple of waters in hand, I sit beside her and chuckle. “Glad you’re not on some brutal cleanse.”

“I’ve done enough cleanses to last a lifetime.” She pulls out the Big Mac and practically salivates.

I stretch out my legs and cross my ankles. “You don’t strike me as the type.”

She’s about to take a bite but pauses. Something crosses her face—anger? It disappears quickly. “I’m not, at least not now. I was with my ex for five years, and he was all into that stuff: stupid diets, keeping up appearances. He had this passive-aggressive way of knocking me down verbally, and I kind of got sucked into his world more than I should have.”

It’s the most detail she’s offered about the fuckwit who messed with her head before we met. Shay’s softer than she was in Aspen. Less defensive. Whatever she was dealing with, whatever that dickhead she dated did to her, she seems stronger now.

Tired of tiptoeing around her past, I say, “How did you let it go on so long? I don’t mean to be blunt, but…five years? I can’t picture you knuckling down under anyone, especially that long.” I set my food aside and swig my water.

Taking my lead, she moves the bag and burger to the seat beside her and wipes her hands on a napkin. “Moving to the city was a big step for me. Lily went to New York to study design, Raven was in teacher’s college up north, and I scraped together enough to get into a design program here. But coming from a small town where everyone knew me was hard. I struggled, had trouble making friends. Couldn’t meet anyone I really clicked with outside of classes. Then I met the Dick.”

“The Dick?”

“Richard. Lawyer extraordinaire.” She waves her hand in a flourish.

I raise an eyebrow. “I see I wasn’t the first man in your life to earn a profane nickname.”

“Or the last,” she says, and I grip my water tighter. “Just guys I dated recently,” she adds, and I nearly crush the thing. “Anyway,” she continues, “Richard had a way about him, and made me feel for the first time in a while like I belonged somewhere, to someone. Too much, I guess. I lost sight of who I was in the relationship, didn’t recognize myself anymore. Didn’t particularly like myself or how he treated me. Still, it was hard for me to move on, mentally. Then he dumped me for a newer model, and I took off to Aspen…where I met an asshole.” Smirking, she tips her head toward me.