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

the side of my face.
    “Thank you,” I utter as she clasps the bouquet against her chest and turns away from me.
    I call out as she reaches the van, and her head shoots round.
    “Did you ever find Mr Right?”
    “Afraid not,” she chuckles, “they were all assholes.” She pauses. “Well, the ones I ended up with were. I found my Mrs Right, though,” she added, pulling herself up into the driver’s seat.
    “Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” I add with a knowing smirk.
    I hear the rev of the engine, then I pick up Hooper’s lead and walk down the driveway.
    How fortunate I am to live in the countryside, surrounded by all this beauty. I glimpse up, and watch the sun dance its golden patterns in front of my eyes as I saunter from one tree-lined country lane to the next.
    I can’t get Snow out of my mind. It’s so annoying, because I know I mean nothing to him; I literally feel my heart drop in my chest. He sends me flowers, but why? I made a right fool of myself, practically throwing myself into his arms. Services rendered, he left me feeling like no more than a hooker.
    When he left, I showered for hours under water as hot as I could bear, but still I couldn’t wash the feeling of his hands from my body, or his presence out of my mind. How could I have fallen in love with such a jerk? I kick at a clump of sprouting bluebells. Maybe he thinks he’s keeping me sweet by sending me flowers; a girl in every country, and I’m his next lay when he flies over to England. Somehow I don’t think so. Hooper’s lead pulls taut behind me; I’m slightly out of breath.
    “Sorry, boy,” I apologise, stopping for a moment to catch my breath.
    I bend down and ruffle his wiry fur between my fingers. I hadn’t realised I was dragging him.
    I glance around; the trees, the broken fence we used to climb over, nothing had changed, nothing at all; it was all exactly the same ten years on. Snow loved racing off in front of me on his Raleigh bike, his gears allowing him to go far faster than me. I remember my own dilapidated excuse for a bike; I’d call after him at the top of my voice to slow down as I pedalled behind, losing him from sight. Not forgetting Hooper, he’d sit in the little white basket perched between my handlebars with his tongue hanging out to the side.
    A glint of sunlight filters through the trees, catching the water of the small lake. I smile, then quickly shake my head and my smile away; during those six weeks we came here every day without fail. I edge towards the knotted rope with the worn tyre that still hangs from the old horse chestnut. Crouching down, I run my fingers through the crisp leaves as Hooper, now lead free, forages between the bushes before dipping his front paws in the slow-flowing stream. I watch him with a smile, then squint and look far deeper. His head is tilted to one side; thinking back, it has been like that for the last few weeks, but I hadn’t really given it a second thought.
    “Hooper!” I shout, and he walks back to me unsteadily. “Come here, boy.”
    I hold his head between my hands, but his eyes don’t focus on mine, flickering back and forth at speed, unable to focus on anything.
    “God, Hooper, no, not now, I can’t lose you as well.”
    I can hardly breathe as I reach for my phone. He’s not insured; with everything that had happened, I’d forgotten to renew the policy.
    I’ve got no money; how can I afford vet bills? In a panic, I scroll down my contacts. Sam’s name pops up—he was an old flame of mine. He’s at university, studying veterinary something or other; that will do. I press my finger on his name and listen as it rings.
    “Darcy?” I hear his deep voice on the other end. “How’s things?”
    “Sam, it’s Hooper.” As quick as my words allow, I spit out his symptoms. “Please, Sam, tell me what I should do.”
    “Well, calm down for one, it’s probably nothing; often when dogs hold their head to one side it’s an obstruction or ear