Page 75 of The Snowflake Effect

“No. Definitely not.”

She studies me. “Then we’ll deal with it. Kolton seems great. Thoughtful. The type of man you hold on to.”

There’s wistfulness in her voice, maybe a thread of regret concerning her recent divorce. Whatever the reason, I almost fall at her feet in gratitude.

“You’ve proven yourself on this project,” she goes on. “I mentioned the associate position earlier because I see a lot of potential in you. You have that natural finesse with clients and tradespeople—a bedside manner, so to speak—which is an important part of the job. We’re psychologists as much as we are designers. It isn’t ideal to be dating the client, but there are no rules against it. As long as you two can keep that area of your life separate and don’t bring arguments or difficulties to work, I have no problem with it.” She places a hand on my shoulder. “And that hair really is something.” She winks at me, and my neck flames.

Seriously. That hair. “Thank you for understanding, it means a lot. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” she says, less playfully. She may have given me her blessing, but Concept is her company, her only child. She won’t stand by idly if she feels it’s threatened.

I gather my purse and briefcase. “I’ll run to the carpenter’s to check on the change-room doors after lunch. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay. I’ll keep an eye on Ben to make sure he follows those designs to the letter. That wall is the centerpiece of the space. There’s no room for error.” Her raised eyebrow is the only reminder I need to buckle down and make sure no more glitches happen on my watch.

Relieved, I nearly skip to the front door, a gust of warm summer air blasting my face as I step outside. Scents of charred meat float from a hot-dog stand as people brush by me. Brakes grind, phones ring, laughter drifts from a couple walking hand in hand. It’s the same street, but different. The same day, but different.

I’m the same, but different.

My shoulders feel lighter, unburdened, a future with so many possibilities ahead of me. Kolton. My career finally taking off. Kolton. But the girls still don’t know about my apartment and current living arrangements, and I’m tired of all my secrets.

I hurry down the street, ready to come clean.

But a block away, I hear, “Shay? Is that you?”

I frown at the familiar voice and spin around. “Michael. Wow. It’s been a while.”

Actually, it’s been since Richard dumped my ass. Seeing the Dick’s best friend dampens my joy, but I offer a smile. It’s not Michael’s fault Richard hurt me in ways that can’t be measured.

Michael folds his arms, and his expensive suit tightens around his shoulders. “You look great. Everything good?”

It’s a real question, not forced conversation, the brightness in his eyes saying as much. He was always a nice guy. I broaden my smile. “Can’t complain. You?”

“Yeah. Great. Working too much, but aren’t we all? You still at that design place? Retirement homes, right?”

I snort, those floral-on-floral themes forever burned into my retinas. “No. The mothball smell got to me. Moondog’s opening their first shop in Toronto. I’m designing the space for them.” Until now, when dishing about this job, I’ve felt like an impostor. Like I’m living someone else’s life. But I’m on track to maybe, possibly, becoming a full-time paid designer.

He nods, his gaze suddenly more probing, roaming over me from head to toe. As though he doesn’t recognize the woman before him. His eyes linger on my breasts, about a size bigger since quitting my juice cleanses. “Cool,” he says. “Love their stuff. Anyway, I’ve gotta run. It was good seeing you. I’ll tell Richard you say hi.”

Um…hard no to that. But Michael is on his way with the throng of pedestrians, caught up in the flow of the city, before I can squash that nonsense. If I had to pass a message to Richard, I’d add the all-encompassing dumbass after the salutation. Or limpdick. Or jerkoff. I bet Jackson’s Urban Dictionary has a slew of fitting names.

When the last of Michael’s dark blue suit disappears, thoughts of Richard and retirement homes fade with him. I rush to meet the girls.

“Why do you look like you stuck your finger in a light socket?” Raven asks partway through our lunch. When I frown and touch my hair, she waves at my face. “Not your curls. You’ve been all fidgety since you arrived. Like that time you couldn’t wait to gossip about Susie Marshall losing her V-card. What aren’t you telling us?”

Lily swallows a spoonful of her soup. “You do look like you’re about to burst.”

We come to this café often, the soups, salads, and sandwiches filling and easy on the wallet, but it’s been ages since we’ve hung out. Life’s been busy for all of us. Work. Stress. Relationships. The second we sat down, Raven dished about her summer photography classes, and Lily complained, again, that Kevin and she are drifting apart, their relationship lingering past its expiration date. I listened and asked questions, all the while excited and nervous to share my news. They might be upset I’ve kept them in the dark so long.

Raven jabs her fork at me. “Spill it. Unless you want me to inform your brother the dent on his beloved Chevy wasn’t a hit-and-run. What did that cost him to fix it?”

Raven and her threats. “First, I’m pretty sure you’re the reason we took his car for a joyride. And second, that lamppost jumped in front of me.” I inhale the last bite of my chicken wrap while we have a stare-off.

Lily pushes her finished soup away. “Come on, Shay. What’s got you so wound up?”

Where do I start? My money woes have gone on so long, they’ve bled into every facet of my life. My job turmoil, my Kolton stress, and my living arrangements are all symptoms of the greater cause: I was too proud to ask for help, like Kolton chided.

“I’ll give you the condensed version,” I say, raising my hand to tick the items off one by one. “I’ve been strapped for cash for a while.” One. “Angela fired me from Sass and Style.” Two. “I’m close to getting a permanent design position at Concept.” Three. “I was nearly evicted.” Four. “I’ve moved in with Kolton.” Five. “And…”