Snowflakes in Seattle

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

WYATT

I blamed the skirt.

I’d always excelled at math. I understood geometry: angles, curves, rays. What I didn’t understand was how one article of clothing could create a whole new shape that sent men to utter distraction.

This man, anyway.

“Ask her out already, chicken shit.”

I startled at Holly’s sharp whisper, having wandered deep into my imagination, as I always did when in the conference room with a view to Tessa’s desk. The girl was a knockout. Long, glossy brown hair. Big eyes. Legs for days. Curves highlighted by what Holly told me were called “pencil skirts.” My new favorite article of clothing.

But actually asking Tessa out on a date? Using words ?

We’d only shared a handful of those in the four months she’d been working for Vertex, the construction company started by my parents. “Have a good one,” was as verbose as I’d gotten with the pretty brunette receptionist. That phrase, or anything like it, turned into a contest to see who could turn reddest. It was usually me.

When it came to construction, I knew what the hell I was doing. I could run a job site, juggle eight crises at once, negotiate with subs and unions, build a damn building—but navigate dating? Nope.

Lots of talking? Best behavior? Reading between the lines all the time? How? Why?

I just wanted to sprint past first date awkwardness and straight to the good stuff. Like playing co-op, zombie-killing video games that somehow led to the bedroom.

I mean, I wanted one. A girlfriend. Someone to cook for and fuck senseless. Must love first-person shooters, scruffy loners, and disintegrating houseboats.

That wasn’t happening anytime soon.

Maybe I should work up the nerve to talk to Tessa.

I shook my head at Holly, pretending I hadn’t been daydreaming again and instead paying attention to the project update for the residential tower we were constructing in downtown Seattle.

A laugh huffed out of her nose. I knew she was snickering at my inability to get out a full sentence in front of the receptionist.

I forced myself to listen to the project executive, flipping my pen around my fingers in a practiced move born from way too many meetings like this one. I was made to work. Do shit with my hands, like build tiny houses for the homeless, as I’d done recently for a billionaire client—now friend—with a philanthropic bent.

Getting dirty again had felt good.

The change from Wyatt in the field to Wyatt in the office had been gradual, like a frog in hot water. One day, I’d looked in my closet and realized I owned more polos and chinos than T-shirts and Carhartts. My calendar had more office meetings than site visits. Apparently, everyone had assumed I’d take over for my dad as head of the company when he retired. Seemed that he assumed so as well.

Some days, like when I watched the components of our buildings become whole, become places , I wanted nothing more than to continue my dad’s legacy. Other days, when I was stuck in endless meetings and contract negotiations and fights with the city, I wanted to paddle away into the sunset and never look back.

“VP, I hate this electrical sub we hired.”

I blinked, bringing my wandering attention to Roark, the project exec. That was me. Vice president of Vertex.

For now.

“They never show up to meetings. Power is kind of a big deal.”

“Just a little bit,” I replied, thinking of the 25-story tower cantilevered over a pocket park the city said we couldn’t build on. Roark had the architect’s rendering up on the screen at the front of the room. The whole building blazed with light, a beacon in an already brilliant downtown. Of course, power was a big deal, and not just in renderings.

“I’ll find you someone else,” I told him. I had no problem firing the giant national firm in favor of someone smaller and local. Providing opportunities for disadvantaged businesses to break into the industry on big, shiny projects like this one was my goal for the next year, when, we all assumed, my dad stepped down and named me as president.

A change bigger than this damn tower, and one I wasn’t sure I wanted to make.

Later, in my office, I combed through the state’s database of businesses that needed a leg up in the construction world. Finding a new electrical engineer was my last task before I closed up shop for the holidays.

My dad and stepmom, our office manager, were already at their house in Carmel. Hardly anyone had showed up in the office today, the light dusting of snow sending them into Out of Office mode early. Tessa, I noticed, had already left for the day. The year, actually. The crooked, Grinch-like tree she’d had on the front counter was gone, the string of lights she’d hung around her counter switched off.

She hadn’t said goodbye, but at least I got a reprieve of a couple more weeks before I felt the pressure again to ask her out. I couldn’t gawk and daydream forever.

Maybe I’d wait until Valentine’s Day. That would give me plenty of time to practice ending sentences in the form of a question.

Holly popped her head in, computer bag slung over her red blazer. “Have a great Christmas, Wy.”

I nodded. “You, too. Have fun skiing with the family.”

“Always. Got any plans?”

“Much-needed R&R,” I answered.

“Meaning video games and beer in your pajamas?”

The new Call of Duty game I’d been saving for just this occasion, actually. And maybe I had bought flannel pajamas at the grocery store by my house. They’d been on sale.

“We’ll see,” I shrugged. “I plan to enjoy my empty calendar and quiet house.”

We’d been busy as hell lately at work, and not just during business hours. I’d had to attend two black tie construction award shows in the past month, repping our company for my dad, who was acting like he was already retired. Black tie . For construction. Luckily, my stepmom was good at that kind of thing. I’d looked dope in the tux she’d picked out, and felt even better. I’d tamed the mop of curls and trimmed the beard. I think I even strutted at one point in those shiny shoes. Yes, I’d gone with my stepmom as my date and sap that she is, she’d cried when she’d spotted me. Like my everyday appearance was that bad.

Too bad Tessa hadn’t been there to see my transformation. Maybe I wouldn’t have even needed words. I could imagine a darkened corner in that hotel, a dress pushed out of the way, parts of Tessa’s body besides her face turning red.

“Yo. Wyatt.”

Snapping back into reality, I smiled at Holly and tried not to look too guilty. “Yeah, sorry.”

She snorted. “I said goodbye to you like three times. Where’d you go?”

“You don’t want to know.”

I’d keep my deviant thoughts to myself. They were just daydreams, anyway. I’d never been anything other than a perfect gentleman with women I’d taken home over the years, despite the dark alleys into which my thoughts sometimes wandered.

Someday, maybe I’d get up the courage to have that conversation with a woman.

Someday, maybe I’d get up the courage to have any conversation with a woman.

“Happy holidays,” I said, waving her out.

“See you next year.” Holly left my office snickering, her standard departure from my presence.

I packed up, pondering the strangeness of a Christmas alone. My mom, an ER nurse, had volunteered to work. After the new year, we’d be back to our weekly brunches at which she overshared about whomever she was dating and bullied me into talking more than I was comfortable.

Anita, my stepmom, had clucked all over me about my decision not to join her and my dad in California, and my dad had blinked at me in that way he did when he was trying to read my mind. But when it came to choosing between two weeks getting my ass kicked by a bunch of geriatrics on a golf course or two weeks blowing up insurgents while day drinking in my slippers, it was no contest.

My mom and Anita, likely coordinated, had left me a ton of gifts to open. My neighbor, “Gregg with two Gs,” as he still reminded me years later, had brought over cookies made by his grandkids that had been covered with a pound of sprinkles each. I’d driven out into the woods and cut down my own tree. My dad had given me an extra-long hug before they’d left and told me how proud he was of me for the successful year we’d had at Vertex.

Holiday mode had commenced and I was feeling the love from all quarters.

Nothing left to wish for.