A Summer With Snow (Frosted Seasons #1) by Hallie Swanson

infection. Stop worrying. I’m home for the summer, so I can come and take a look at him if you like?”
    “Oh yes, yes please. He’s old, he’s my baby…” My voice breaks. “He’s all I’ve got left.”
    “You don’t have to tell me, I know how much you love him. Erm…” The line goes quiet for a moment. “I’m dropping my nephew off at football, so give me a few hours. I’ll probably get to you around six.”
    “Thank you so much. Say hello to Riley for me; guess he’s in goal?” I do the best I can to show a little interest, since I’d hate him to think I was just using him.
    “No, he’s not in goal any more, he plays mid-field.”
    “No way! He always hated running.”
    “Well, people change…”
    The line falls quiet. Not knowing quite what to say, I swallow.
    “You could see for yourself if you like?” he says. “Maybe you could come along to one of his matches?”
    I can tell by the way he speaks and by the softening of his voice that he still has feelings for me. But it wouldn’t be fair; I couldn’t imagine standing next to him cheering Riley on, and I know Sam would read far too much into it. He’s great as a friend, but on the intimacy side, it would never happen.
    “Well?” he asks.
    “Yeah maybe, thanks,” I say, ending the call.
    I lie back as the sun casts its shadows through the trees.
    “What say we head home, old fella? We’ll do our usual walk tomorrow.”
    He rests his head across my stomach, and I almost crush his little body under my arm I am holding him so tightly. I look down at his little face until he closes his eyes, and I lower my lids for a few moments.
     
     
    M y body jerks forwards; I feel the rose slip from my hair. My eyes shoot open as Hooper barks at some cyclists riding past. Blinking myself awake, I check the time on my phone: four-thirty.
    “Damn it!” I curse; the house viewing was at three o’clock. Jenny will kill me.
    I jump to my feet and bundle Hooper up in my arms; he’s not walking any further today. I amble back to the house with his head resting against mine. I lower him onto the porch, pop my key into the lock and turn. I frown; the door is already unlocked.
    “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    The hall carpet and stairs are littered with hundreds of rose petals in every shade imaginable. Snow, he must be here . I take a sideways glance into the square mirror on the wall to my left, ruffle my hair in my hands, pout and quickly shake my head. What am I doing?
    “Hooper, don’t run!” I call after him as he darts into the kitchen.
    I really don’t want to see Snow, not now, yet I can’t fight the way I feel. They’re not strides but tentative steps I take through the arched doorway into the kitchen.
    My heart is pounding. Jolting backwards, I bang into the wall-mounted shelves. Hearing a crashing sound, I look down. Mum’s chef ornament, the one holding the corkscrew, lies shattered on the floor.
    “Fuck’s sake!” I throw my hands over my mouth. “I’m so sorry,” I quickly add. But why am I apologising? And who the hell is this man in my house? “Now look what you’ve made me do!”
    I can feel my face reddening as I scoop up numerous jagged pieces in the hope I might be able to glue them back together. I let out a loud sigh, then gaze up from under my lashes and scowl at the red-headed man looking quite relaxed on a chair with his feet crossed and leaning on the table top.
    “Well, I’m waiting,” I hiss, tapping my foot impatiently on the floor. “Who the hell are you, and how’d you get in?”
    My eyes whizz round to check everything’s still in its place. I guess he must sense my thoughts.
    “Hey, I’m not a burglar, I’ve not come here to rob you.”
    Distrusting, I continue to look around. How did I manage to miss the baskets of flowers that had taken over the kitchen, their sweet scent having a rather bitter undertone. Hooper stands on his back legs, his front paws running up the stranger’s bare thighs.