My secret snowflake, p.1
My Secret Snowflake, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Katharine Strobos
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Cover Design: Cover Ever After
ISBN: 9781958894170 (Paperback)
ISBN: 9781958894125 (E-book)
www.kathystrobos.com
Published by Strawbundle Publishing
New York, New York
For my mom and dad.
Also By Kathy Strobos
New York Friendship Series
A Scavenger Hunt for Hearts
Partner Pursuit
Is This for Real?
Caper Crush
New York Spark Series
My Book Boyfriend
Love Is an Art
My Secret Snowflake
For giveaways, updates on new releases, behind-the-scene news and what's going on in my life, please subscribe to my mailing list at https://kathystrobos.com/sign-up-for-my-newsletter/
Contents
1. Iris
2. Iris
3. Sebastian
4. Sebastian
5. Iris
6. Iris
7. Iris
8. Sebastian
9. Iris
10. Sebastian
11. Iris
12. Iris
13. Sebastian
14. Iris
15. Sebastian
16. Iris
17. Sebastian
18. Iris
19. Sebastian
20. Iris
21. Sebastian
22. Iris
23. Iris
24. Iris
25. Sebastian
26. Iris
27. Sebastian
28. Iris
29. Sebastian
30. Iris
31. Sebastian
32. Iris
33. Sebastian
34. Iris
35. Sebastian
36. Iris
37. Sebastian
38. Epilogue - Iris
39. About the Author
40. Acknowledgments
Chapter one
Iris
I feel like a Santa Claus who’s eaten too many cookies and is now stuck in a chimney, unable to shimmy up or down. So much for my bright idea that I could easily step on a carton and climb through this open window that’s about five feet off the ground. I cling to the windowsill, not quite able to hoist myself all the way over, but I’m far enough off the ground that dropping back down could hurt. My stomach is on the sill, and my hands and elbows are holding me on, the wooden ledge biting into everything—splinters are a definite possibility. The box I stepped on to get a leg up is now a crumpled heap below me.
“Are you okay, Iris?” Jazmine asks from below me. “Ow. Ugh. There are so many prickly bushes here. Amelia, you should definitely stay on the path.”
“I can see your key card on your desk, Amelia,” I say.
Amelia, Head of Human Resources at Dream Company where we all work, is outside on a beautifully gardened gravel path, but her key card is in her hotel room. To save Amelia the 100-euro penalty for needing assistance after eleven p.m., I came up with the brilliant idea that I could climb in through her open ground-floor window, retrieve her key, and let her in. It must have been all the “let’s-think-out-of-the-box” exercises we’ve been doing on this company retreat in Provence with our new parent company, L’Etoile S.A.R.L.
“I probably should have just called the porter,” Amelia says. “But then he’ll think I’m an idiotic American. And what if he tells L’Etoile? And then L’Etoile thinks I’m an idiot?”
I’m the idiot. What if our L’Etoile colleagues see me hanging here? Oh no. I kick my legs. But I’m swimming in air, not water. C’mon, nonexistent arm muscles. Pull. This is your time to shine.
“Can you push me some more?” I bite out.
“I’m trying,” Jazmine huffs.
As some cool air brushes over the backs of my thighs, I wince. I have the uneasy feeling that all Jazmine did was push up my skirt. My arms are definitely weakening.
“I think I’m going to fall,” I gasp.
“Can I help?” It’s a man’s voice.
Oh, no. Is my underwear showing? It can’t be showing, right?
“Yes, please!” Hold. On.
“Sebastian, great timing,” Jazmine says.
Sebastian? The new guy in Legal?
Should I shimmy and try to get my skirt back down? I bite my lip and hold on tighter. If I shimmy, I’ll look like I’m doing some weird move to the windowsill. Or like I’m a worm.
Some twigs crack behind me as I presume Jazmine and Sebastian switch positions. I don’t dare look around. Please, let my underwear not be showing.
“Okay if I put my hands on your hips?” Sebastian asks. His voice is a deep timbre behind me, and it’s as if my hands want to loosen their grip on this windowsill and slip into the warmth of his arms. The smell of Ivory soap mixes with the night breeze.
“Yes, yes,” I say. I can’t hold on much longer. Especially when my body seems to have the completely wrong idea about this situation.
And suddenly two hands grip my hips, and my stomach is over the windowsill. Along the rest of me. Crash! Ouch! I don’t catch myself in time. I’m on the floor.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
No. I want to disappear between these wood boards.
“Yes,” I say, adding a cheery lilt to my voice as if I’m totally fine and my knees are not all scraped up—and I adore looking like an inelegant mess in front of a very attractive guy.
I stand and pull down my skirt. It’s dark, so maybe my underwear wasn’t visible? But at least Sebastian is an American colleague. Because my underwear would definitely not impress our French hosts.
I am so mortified. I can feel my cheeks flush.
I turn on the desk light and grab the key. I flash a thumbs-up out the window at the three shadowy figures standing outside, only the face of the man illuminated by the lamp. Amelia and Jazmine have retreated to the pathway, out of reach of the bushes.
“I’m Sebastian,” the man says as he steps forward. “I’m not sure we’ve met formally before.”
As if all the women at Dream Company in New York City didn’t immediately sigh in appreciation when he joined a month ago. Even I couldn’t help noticing him and I’d sworn off dating.
Should we really be doing formal introductions now?
“Iris Murphy,” I say. “Thank you. I was definitely stuck.”
“It was definitely a pleasure.” He flashes me a wicked grin.
I blush. Yes, my underwear was definitely showing. And I’m wearing my white full-coverage underwear—not at all sexy, especially with the cat pawprints. I close my eyes. Why did I have to wear those?
Still, given his smile and chiseled cheekbones, those dark-blue eyes, and his wavy blond hair, I’m sure he’s seen women in underwear before. Just maybe not granny underwear that looks like a cat stepped in pink paint and then massaged my butt.
“You’ve earned your good Samaritan points for the day,” I say wryly.
“I don’t think this qualifies,” he says with a slight laugh to his voice. “I couldn’t not help when it was like a luminous white flag of…”
My underwear was glowing? Great.
“Surrender?” I ask.
“That’s not quite what I thought, although it definitely works. Given that HR is right behind me, I’m not going to say anything else.” He gives me this half-smile that definitely hints at something more.
“You can’t leave me hanging,” I say.
“I didn’t. I’ll be off, then.” He backs up through the bushes, back to the gravel pathway that meanders among the cute little cottages at this French countryside resort.
That’s more in line with his usual behavior, according to the female office gossip. He’s gorgeous but aloof. All work and no play. I smooth down my skirt again. Patrick had the same complaint about me. My ice princess. That’s what he liked at first—that I wasn’t falling over myself to attract him. But that didn’t last. I sigh. I leave by the front door and meet Amelia and Jazmine outside.
Amelia takes her key card, saying thank you again and waving good-bye. Jazmine and I walk down the path to our suite in the building next door.
“I can’t believe Sebastian came to your aid,” Jazmine says. “I wouldn’t have pegged him as the type to rescue a damsel in distress.”
“I wasn’t a damsel in distress. I would’ve gotten myself over the ledge eventually,” I say.
Jazmine pats my back. “Of course. Still, sometimes it’s good to recognize when you need help. You don’t have to do it alone.”
“Why wouldn’t you have pegged him as the type to rescue a damsel in distress?” Let’s not drop that far-more-interesting line of conversation. Does Jazmine also see him as distant?
“I mean, he seems like a great guy, but he doesn’t socialize much,” Jazmine says. “But I think he was definitely smiling when he passed me. Maybe he’s just the ticket to get you over your good-for-nothing ex.”
I shake my head. “Should you—as HR—really be advising me to date a work colle ague?”
Jazmine laughs. “You know I’m all for dating in the office. If I could only get Aaron to notice me. We’re in France, and it’s a romantic, moonlit night.”
I swoop my arm through Jazmine’s. “And I’m happy to be here with you.”
Jazmine and I had met at an office public service event this past summer where we’d been paired painting a classroom. This past summer. I’d spent all my free weekends flying to Patrick’s rock concerts. I hadn’t seen my friends or family at all. When I was really down about my breakup with Patrick, she made me the absolute sweetest care package—with bubble bath, a romantic comedy book, hot chocolate mix, and a gift certificate for a Thai restaurant around the corner from my parents’ house. I’d moved back home when I had to leave the apartment I’d shared with Patrick.
“I really hope our flights home don’t get canceled because of a labor strike, like on our way over,” she says.
“Me too. Tessa’s engagement party is Saturday night, and I’m both the DJ and tech person. I don’t want to miss that.” Earlier this year, I’d missed most of my sister’s engagement party because of a cyberattack.
My phone beeps.
“Who is that?”
“My brother. Asking if I’m okay. Liam’s become such a worrywart ever since I texted him when I…found Patrick.” I still can’t quite say when I found Patrick cheating. “And asked him to help me move out.”
“You’re doing much better. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but you and Sebastian talking through that window looked sparky tonight.” Jazmine pulls out her key and opens the door to our cottage. “Anyway, are you ready for your presentation tomorrow on cybersecurity?”
“Yes, I even discussed it with my new French infosec colleagues. I think I impressed them. I keep feeling like this is some sort of test and not just let’s-all-get-to-know-each-other.”
“I get that vibe too,” Jazmine says. We look at each other and then shrug. I wave good-bye and let myself into my room next to hers.
I pull up Liam’s text to send him a picture of me smiling next to Jazmine in front of the Eiffel Tower from a few days ago—to reassure him. But I can’t help flipping back to our text exchange from that night. I had come home early from a cybersecurity conference, only to find two wineglasses, a trail of clothing, and a closed bedroom door. I’d texted Liam, who was dog-sitting in the neighborhood.
Me: Patrick…
But I couldn’t type out the words.
So I texted a photo of the trail of clothes. A black dress. Red bra. Patrick’s jeans. His lucky black shirt. A black pair of underwear. Boxers.
Me: Can u help me take my stuff home? Now.
Liam: I’ll kill him. You can stay there.
But I couldn’t.
A framed photo of Patrick and me staring at each other, love shining out of our eyes, on my desk, had caught my glance. And it felt like a dagger piercing my chest. I still remember the bitter taste of blood from biting my lip mixing with the salt of my tears.
Patrick saying he was sorry—that she was a mistake. The woman objecting to being called a mistake. Saying she was sorry to me and yelling at Patrick. Me telling her it wasn’t her fault. Fatma swishing her tail angrily and hissing at them both. The woman helping me pack up and telling me to take the chocolate and the ice cream. I didn’t want the chocolate or the ice cream. I wanted my boyfriend, or rather the boyfriend I thought he was.
My stomach clenches. I’m definitely not ready to fall in love again.
No flight delay and no cybersecurity crisis. And this is most definitely New York City and not Paris or Provence, as my best friend Maddie and I pass the corner pizza store we haunted as kids. The smell of melted cheese wafts over as someone exits out the door, a pizza box in hand. We’re actually on our way to Tessa and Zeke’s engagement party.
“I have such a good lead on this story.” Maddie is a reporter covering the city desk.
The gallery hosting Tessa and Zeke’s engagement party is in the middle of the block. In the top center of one narrow brick building, a woman perches on the windowsill, her face and body turned inward, her hand holding a cigarette out the window.
As we arrive at the gallery entrance, our friend Lily rushes up to us.
“I’m so glad you’re here. Tessa’s terrible paintings are gone. I put them right here”—she points at the front façade— “and I carried in the framed photos—because those are so personal—and I was sure nobody would take the paintings. But they’re gone.” Lily practically wails the last part.
“We didn’t see anyone coming this way carrying paintings,” I say.
Lily looks down the street the other way, but it’s empty. “I was only gone for five minutes. I got distracted buying Rupert a bulldozer T-shirt for Christmas.”
“They’ll be fine. They’re going to be so happy with the party and all their friends here to celebrate them. And Tessa will probably be relieved that she never has to be embarrassed by them again.”
Lily looks torn. “Maybe. Maybe I can pass it off that I ‘lost’ them on purpose. But they probably have some sentimental value, given that she painted them when she was trying to persuade Zeke she had some artistic talent.”
A cab pulls up, and Lily’s boyfriend, Rupert, alights. She rushes up to him and explains to him what just happened.
He pulls her in to hug her tight. “Are there any building personnel helping you with the setup?” he asks.
“No,” Lily says. “I met the super here, and he gave me the key. Then he bicycled off.”
“Maybe you can call him and ask him if any security cameras monitor this area,” Rupert says.
“Great idea.” Lily smiles at him, and it’s one of those smiles you know you’re not supposed to see, meant for just the two of them.
I feel very single.
“Maybe we should focus on getting whatever else needs to be set up first, and then if we have time, we can try to find the missing paintings.” Maddie pulls me through the front door, leaving Lily and Rupert alone.
I make sure all the electronics work, including my playlist, while Maddie greets the caterers and sets them up in the small back kitchen. Lily and Rupert hang up various photos of Zeke and Tessa over the course of their relationship.
As Maddie and I stand off to the side, surveying the room, Lily joins us just as her phone rings. She hits the button to answer.
After a moment, her eyes grow wide. “In the garbage?” Lily screeches. “Okay, okay. In the back?” She listens for a second then hangs up and shakes her head. “He says he bicycled back to check on me, feeling bad that he’d left so abruptly, and saw the paintings leaning against the window. Apparently, artists leaving paintings outside the building is a thing. There’s a rule—any art left outside goes in the garbage in the back. I must have missed his return when I went to the bathroom.”
“I’ll look,” I say. “You stay here.”
I slip through the kitchen and out into the small backyard of the building. There’s a small iron table with chairs, a standing ashtray, a bike rack, and a very large pile of black garbage bags. One rectangular-shaped one in the back could hold Tessa’s paintings. I pull aside the first few bags. What do they put in these things? Full paint cans? I need to do that crouch and swing that the garbage truck personnel use. I pull in my stomach muscles, bend slightly, and get a swing going with the next one.
“Hello,” says a deep male voice from behind me. One that sounds familiar but I can’t place.
I turn around. It’s Sebastian—from the office—holding a bicycle. What’s he doing here?
“You,” I say.
“You,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’m friends with Zeke. We met when we both worked at Capital before I came to Dream.” He locks up his bike to the cycle rack. “How do you know Tessa and Zeke?”
“Tessa and I are friends from high school,” I say.
