Page 87 of The Snowflake Effect

I clear my throat. “We both knew one of us would have to make sacrifices for this to work. We always knew that, and we jumped in anyway. I’ve tried. I spoke to Sawyer about me moving and working from here permanently, but the complications are too…complicated.”

She winces, a slight twitch of her cheeks. I grip her wrist, and her fingers curl around mine, holding on, but she doesn’t speak.

“It’s not just about me, Shay. Caroline has been a wreck without Jackson there. He’s a living reminder of her daughter, all she has, and I couldn’t live with myself if I took that away from her.” It’s getting easier to talk now. Still no racing heart. No second-guessing myself. “That leaves you. There’s a great job opening at a design firm in Vancouver, and I’ve already spoken to them. They’ve seen your sketches from the shop, and, of course, love them. They want to set up an interview. I know how much the promotion with Hilary means, but this job is pretty sweet. It’s a bigger firm. They just finished a lodge in Whistler that would blow your mind.”

She studies the table as her nails dig into my wrist. I wait for her to reply, but she stays quiet.

“I know you have a life here and friends,” I go on, before she shuts me out completely, “but I also know what we have isn’t something you find every day. I don’t want to lose you. I care about you too much.” I don’t tell her I love her, not when she hasn’t said one word. The only emotion readable in her expression is the fear in her flitting downward gaze.

Finally, she looks up at me. “You used your influence to get me a job again.” Her tone is flat. Disappointed.

Of course she latches onto the one thing in this equation that reminds her of her asshole ex. Like I’m trying to control her. Like I don’t want what’s best for her. “It’s your work they looked at, Shay. Your designs. It’s your interview to rock or fail. I opened the door, because I wanted to help. I want you with me—me and Jackson. I knew how hard leaving Hilary and Concept would be for you, and I wanted you to know you have options. That’s all. Look for another job, for all I care. Or don’t work. I can support us. Whatever you want. Just say you’ll consider coming with me. Say you think we’re worth it.”

Oblivious to our intense conversation, our waiter appears and places our dessert between us. The rich chocolate scents smell bitter.

Shay inhales deeply, releases my wrist, and lowers her shoulders on an exhale. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Thank you for doing the research. I’ll think about moving, because you are worth it. We’re worth trying to figure this out. There’s just a lot to consider. Maybe we’ll find a middle ground,” she says, her eyes suddenly hopeful. “Some kind of long-distance compromise?”

My mouth instantly sours. Shay and I have talked about so much, but we’ve never discussed my visceral reaction to long-distance relationships. Not in specifics. All these years later, it’s still hard to admit what Marina did.

I pick up a fork, gripping the thing too damn tightly. “Long distance can be rough. Marina and I tried it at the start of university—she had her heart set on a nursing program in Calgary, and I got a scholarship to UBC. Figured we’d be a province apart, but it was us and we thought we could make things work.”

I try to say the rest, but when the words rise, bile rises with them. Waves of embarrassment, shame, and anger—emotions I thought I’d moved past—surprise me in their ferocity.

“It was a bad time,” I say instead of getting specific, my tone probably too curt. “Not something I want to revisit. But you and me—we still have a couple of weeks together. Maybe we should table this for now. Talk about your job options again after you’ve had time to think everything through.” Except it already feels like she’s made her choice.

I wait for my gut to bottom out, my heart to speed, my neck and face to heat. Nothing happens. Well, not exactly nothing. Numbness spreads through me, like I’m encased in fog. I swallow and wipe my hands down my thighs.

She studies me a moment, then tilts her head. “Is everything okay? You seem…off.”

I rub my chest, wanting to feel more. Frustration? Hope? All I get is this hazy disconnect. “It’s just the situation,” I say. “I’m worried about us, but I’m not leaving tomorrow. We have time, like I said, and we have this beautiful dessert. We’ll talk later, okay?”

She chews her lip, then nods and cuts into the dessert. A thick river of chocolate spills from the center.

She scoops up a decadent morsel and is about to place it on her tongue when a deep voice says, “Shay? Is that you?”

Her lip curls before she glances up…at the fuckwit who was ogling the waitress earlier. Not a gelled hair on his head is out of place, his button-down shirt is neatly tucked, and his cologne makes my nose itch.

“Richard,” she says, and I nearly stand and deck the guy.

The woman with the sparkly necklace is at the front door, her impatient “Ri-chard” drawing a sharp glare from Shay. He seems oblivious. He drags his gaze up Shay’s body, settling on her breasts the way he leered at the waitress.

Yep. I really want to deck the guy.

Finally, he looks her in the eye. “Michael said he saw you recently, said you were doing well. Designing that new Moondog shop, right?”

I don’t know who this Michael is, but I don’t like that Richard knows what Shay’s up to, like he’s keeping tabs on her. And he hasn’t even acknowledged me.

Shay shoves a forkful of chocolate in her mouth, moaning like she did that day on Aspen Mountain in the cafeteria. As if she’s goading him, daring him to make a comment. She drops her fork and curls her hands into fists. “Yeah, things are good. Perfect, actually. This is my boyfriend, Kolton. He owns Moondog.” Her words are clipped. Tense.

I offer a curt nod and place my hand back over hers.

His assessing gaze focuses on our hands, on my thumb rubbing circles. Then a smug, trust-fund smile settles on his face. Like he’s Sherlock Holmes about to crack a case. “That’s great, Shay. I’m really happy for you. It’s really nice of Kolton to let you design the space. Can’t wait to see it.”

That’s great. Really nice. Let you design.

Shay wasn’t kidding when she said this douche was arrogant and condescending, insinuating I gave my girlfriend the job as a favor. Not because she had the most creative sketches I’d seen. Not because she’s capable.

I squeeze her hand. “Shay’s an amazing designer. Her work speaks for itself.”