Page 84 of The Snowflake Effect

I steal a taste of his collarbone, brush my lips back and forth. “Is it Jackson time yet?” Otherwise known as Jackson bursting in here and launching himself on our bed time, hence why we don’t sleep naked.

Kolton places a lingering kiss on my cheek. “We should have a few minutes.”

I squeeze closer. “Like how many?”

“I could be quick.”

“You don’t do quick.” Last night’s marathon on the floor, then in the shower, then on the bed has me sore in the most delicious ways.

“True,” he says. “But you love it.”

“So much,” I agree and nuzzle in closer.

I feather one finger over his firm chest and draw letters, like our game back in Aspen, writing on each other’s skin.

H-O-O-K-E-D, I write.

He chuckles and writes: A-D-D-I-C-T-E-D

I follow with: M-O-R-E

More time. More us.

Every day that passes, it feels like our time in this bubble of happiness is slipping away. An end I don’t want to acknowledge. Kolton doesn’t write anything in reply, but his heart races beneath my palm. Like he’s worried, too.

The store’s grand opening is in one week, Kolton’s flight home leaves in two, and neither of us has broached the subject of our future. Granted, we agreed to enjoy our moments together, not get bogged down with future planning, but there’s no denying our timeline. I have a feeling Kolton is delaying this big discussion for the same reason as me: to see what happens with Concept and my possible promotion.

I can’t make huge decisions about my future until I know all my options, until I have a clear picture of what I stand to gain and lose.

Kolton not rushing me into a decision after his intense wooing means the world.

His phone buzzes from the night table, startling us both.

I lift up to my elbow and glance at the screen. “Shit. It’s Stella. Get the pillows. Jackson will be here any minute.”

Laughing, we roll to our respective sides of the bed and grab the pillows from the floor to create our Jackson barrier. On cue, the little guy barrels into our room and launches himself onto the bed, landing shoulder first into my pillow-shield.

I peek over my white barricade. “Morning, Jackson.”

Instead of replying with his usual good morning, he says, “We need to go to the library. I need to finish H and buy more pencils ’cause the orange is too short, but Aunt Stella says I hafta go to pottery, but I really, really need to finish H. So, can we go to the library? Please? Can we?”

I could easily be swayed by his cuteness, but he’s scratching his left knuckle, a nervous tic I’ve noticed when he’s upset, and he curls his back into my pillow, a puckered frown on his face.

Kolton and I share concerned looks, then he stills Jackson’s fidgety hands. “Did something happen at pottery last week?”

Jackson stops scratching for half a second, then he digs deeper with his nails. A spot of blood smears across his skin.

Worried now, I mouth what’s up to Kolton. He shrugs, but his jaw is tight.

Kolton sits up cross-legged and drags Jackson onto his lap. “If something happened at pottery, bud, and you don’t want to go back, I need to know what it is. We’ve paid for the classes, and you’re in the middle of building that awesome…” He squints, like he’s trying to decide what Jackson’s latest project is. “Piece,” he finishes. “I won’t get mad, but you need to talk to me.”

Jackson’s narrow shoulders curve inward. He nuzzles his face into Kolton’s neck, his glasses pushing at an awkward angle. “The kids there are mean,” he mumbles and resumes scratching his knuckle.

Kolton’s molars clack together as he wraps his arms tighter around his son. I barely refrain from tearing out of the house and finding the little heathens who bullied Jackson. Kids can be so cruel.

“Did someone hurt you?” Kolton asks, clearly trying to stay calm. He kisses Jackson’s knuckles, where his skin is red and bleeding. “Did someone call you names?”

Jackson wiggles impatiently and sighs. The exasperated sound is more suited to a forty-year-old. “Samantha said my pottery was ugly and pushed it off the table, but when I told the teacher about it, Samantha lied and said it was an accident, but I know it wasn’t ’cause it was just after she called me a…” His longwinded sentence trails off.