Page 58 of The Snowflake Effect

He pulls the book toward him and pushes up his glasses. “Glomp. A running tackle-hug from behind to show spon-ta-ne-ous affection.” He scans the sentence a few more times, mouthing the words silently, then says, “A attack hug made of love. Can we write it like that?”

“Sure, but it’s an attack hug, not a. You want me or Shay to write it?”

“I want Shay.”

So do I, buddy. So do I.

I pass her the journal, unable to look away while she squints her left eye and chews her lip, making sure to write neatly.

“Found another one.”

A chorus of shushes reply to Jackson’s not-inside voice, the sexy librarian shooting daggers our way.

“Quiet, buddy,” I whisper as I turn to him.

His finger is dead center on a page of The Urban Dictionary, his eyes shining bright. So absorbed in Shay, I didn’t realize he was scanning it. I lean forward to read his choice and curse inwardly. Forget hiding this book, I should’ve shredded the thing.

Time for Shay to learn how curious my seven-year-old can be.

“Why don’t you field this one?” I push the book toward her and point at Jackson’s word.

G-spot.

She chokes on nothing, and her cheeks flame. “Maybe we should put that book away.”

“But what’s it mean when it says it’s harder to find than proof of God? Is it a treasure?”

Damn right it is. I’m pretty sure I found Shay’s pot of gold in Aspen, but I’d happily spend a solid month searching to be sure.

She looks to me for saving, but I shrug. The smart parenting decision would be to nip this in the bud and tell Jackson we’ll discuss these words when he’s older. But this is too much fun.

“Your can of worms,” I tell her. “And don’t be feeding my kid misinformation.”

Now she’s glaring, her eyes darting around like the non-embarrassing answer is written somewhere on the table. “It’s…” More glaring, more avoiding. “It’s…” Terminator Shay has been unleashed, flared nostrils and all. With a huff, she leans on her elbows, making eye contact with my way-too-curious kid. “It’s a spot girls have that makes them happy, but it’s personal and not something you should ever mention to your friends. Like, ever.”

“But…” He rereads the definition, glances at Shay then at me, then back at her. “Is that why you’re not wooed? Did Daddy not find your G-spot? Did he not make you happy enough?”

Jesus, you can’t script this stuff. I cock an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, Shay. Did I not find your special spot?”

She mouths you’re dead and pushes back her chair. “Nope. He didn’t find it. And I need to go.” Dead, she mouths as she stands.

But that means she’s leaving before our time is up. “We still have forty-five minutes,” I say. “Lots of time to search for your treasure.”

She doesn’t smile at my joke. Without replying, she beelines for the exit.

As she nears the door, Jackson calls, “Don’t worry, Shay. I’ll help Daddy find your G-spot!”

Holy shit.

Shay stops dead and then practically runs for safety. Unable to decide if I should crack up or get mad, I shove his journal and pencils in Jackson’s bag, avoiding the shocked glances from every set of eyes in the place. I grab Jackson with one hand and his pottery with the other, and I hightail it to the door as the sexy librarian gives me the evil eye.

Guess we won’t be returning to this library branch.

I hurry outside and catch Shay as she’s shuffling for her keys. “Come on, Shay. Don’t go. We can head to the park for a bit.” When she ignores me, I add, “I’d really like to hang out.”

She steps so close her hot breath brushes my ear. “I should kill you.”

I love how tall she is, how I barely had to bend down to capture her lips in a kiss all those months ago. “Why would you do that?”