A Summer With Snow (Frosted Seasons #1) by Hallie Swanson Read Free Book Online Page A

baby on the way. I sigh and type Okay ; my finger hovers over the button, I sigh again and press send.
    I glance across the kitchen towards the tiled window sill and smile at the row of chef ornaments that stare back at me. Mum loved finding them wherever she could, at a car boot sale or bidding for them online. Most months a new one would appear, and Dad would always moan there was no space for them, but as if by magic a new shelf would appear; somehow Mum always managed to find them a home.
    “When I finally get my flat I’ll have to remember the order she placed you in,” I say, like a child talking to her toys, as I am pulled by Hooper towards the front door.
    As we walk out onto the porch, I turn back and give the door a push, checking it’s locked. I gaze into the garden and frown. Not again; does this woman not get the message? The same small white van is making its way up the driveway towards me.
    “Hooper, sit,” I tell him as his lead tightens.
    I stand with my hand on my hip and tap my foot as I wait. The warm breeze lifts strands of my hair, which I push back as they fall into my eyes. The van pulls up and I read the lettering on its side: Roses and Posies. The door opens, and the same dark-haired lady that came yesterday steps out.
    The woman turns, walks towards the back of the van and opens the doors. The cellophane wrapping around the bouquet rustles between her fingers as she lowers it so that I can see the flowers. Roses, crimson red, most tightly in bud and interwoven with beautiful white jip. Lemon yesterday, peach the day before. Doesn’t he get it? I don’t want his apologies; he can keep his olive branch.
    “He’s got it bad for you.” The lady chuckles. “Need your signature, just going to grab my pad.”
    I drop Hooper’s lead to the floor and am quick to place my foot over it. She passes me the flowers and I clench the beautiful arrangement in the bend of my arm. The corner of a small white envelope peeks out, and with my free hand I reach between the dark green stems. Disturbing the petals, a rich fragrance dances its way into my nostrils. Slipping my little finger under the seal of the envelope, I rip it open and pull out a note.
    “Snow,” I read out loud, the same one-worded message.
    Just like him , I think; conceited, no emotion. The woman stares at me as I stand there, shaking my head.
    “You know what I’m going to tell you to do with your flowers?” I utter.
    The lady lowers her eyes back to the cellophane.
    “I do,” she replies. “The village church, plot forty-nine.”
    I nod as she hands me a pad and pen. I take the pen from her and quickly sign my name.
    “Hopefully,” I add, “you won’t have another wasted journey tomorrow.”
    I pass her back the flowers.
    “He can’t be that bad,” she says. “I’d love my partner to buy me flowers every day, and at the cost of these he can’t be short of a bob or two.”
    “He’s not my partner,” I’m quick to reply, and I raise my brows. “Yeah he’s got money alright, he’s a millionaire.”
    I see a sudden interest in her eyes.
    “But he thinks he can buy anyone or anything he wants. He treats people like possessions; he takes what he wants and then throws them away.”
    “Oh…” the woman says.
    “No matter how many flowers he buys, I can never get back the one thing he’s taken from me.”
    She shakes her head. “I wasn’t lucky enough to find a millionaire, but the bloke I did find was a bastard too.”
    “Amen.” I chuckle.
    She nods in reply. “Well, there’s plenty of them out there, it’s just our luck to find them, eh?”
    She searches through the budded roses and chooses an open flower, snapping it from its stem.
    “Here,” she says, giving me a half smile.
    She leans towards me, reaching up with her hand, and I automatically crouch. She lifts my hair from the side of my face and weaves the stem through the thick strands towards my ear, where she leaves the pretty petals sitting at