Page 65 of The Snowball Effect

“It does.” Emma knew she wasn’t adding anything helpful to the conversation, but she couldn’t help it.

She’d expected Regan to jump right back at her, defending her own life choices. It would probably have been what Emma would have done if the roles had been reversed.

Regan took a deep breath, her shoulders lifting with it, before she slowly blew it out, then turned back to Emma. There was a lightness in her eyes again as she said, “Yup, it does. And now that it’s been voiced aloud, I feel like we canfinallymove beyond it, right?”

Emma didn’t immediately agree. She took a second to think it over but ultimately nodded. “I guess so. I mean, we kind of already are.” She paused as the reality of the words hit her.

Regan’s insanely enchanting, exuberant smile returned as she squeezed Emma’s wrist twice, letting go of it just as Patty returned with their food.

Emma had to admit after taking a bite – theywerepretty damn good. And judging by the knowing grin Regan had on her face as Emma chewed, she knew exactly what she was thinking.

Emma rolled her eyes in response, before she gasped at how Regan was haphazardly scraping her knife through the stack of pancakes on her own plate. “Oh my god, has anyone ever taught you how to hold a knife?”

“Ha-ha,” Regan mimicked a laugh before gesturing at Emma’s own plate. “Has anyone ever told you that this isn’t a math class, and you don’t have to cut your pancakes into equally sized pieces?”

Emma brought her hand up, protectively cupping it around the side of her plate. Where she had, indeed, methodically, neatly cubed her pancakes a minute ago. “You’re literallysawingat them.”

Regan made a dramatic point of using her knife like a saw, then, and Emma couldn’t help but laugh, even as the image of the mangled pancakes looked like the result of an angry toddler.

“So,” Regan said, pointedly changing the subject. “Why did you want to get into publishing?”

Emma rolled her lips like she had to think about the answer, even though she didn’t.

But she looked back at Regan, at her shameless mushy pancake mess and wide, genuinely curious eyes. At how she had a smudge of maple syrup right at the edge of her full lips.

And she realized – that was it.

Something about Regan’s blatantly open, honest approach to life may be loud and chaotic, but it was always honest and accepting.

Emma spoke before she even realized what she was doing. “It was because of magazines,” she admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. “I wasobsessedwith magazines when I was little. My grandma would bring me to the store, and I would wander away from her as soon as we walked in, grabbing a handful of whatever the latest ones were, and then sequester myself away in a quiet aisle, trying to read as many articles as I could before we had to leave. She’d let me buy one, so I’d always pick the thickest one – whatever it was – to take home.”

A small smile played on her lips at the memory. Even though they hadn’t had much money to spare, and her gram considered magazines a frivolous expense, she’d always gotten Emma one.

“God, I loved reading celebrity gossip in the glossy papers at the supermarket,” Regan agreed, exhaling a dreamy, exaggerated sigh. She cut her gaze to Emma’s. “But I didn’t read all of the articles in them; I was more of a picture-speaks-a-thousand-words girl.”

“Unsurprising,” Emma deadpanned, amused.

It felt – good? Sharing this with Regan. God, that was weird. But, Regan was weird – in a good way, Emma was coming to see. So, she supposed it made sense.

“And?” Regan prompted.

Emma sent her a questioning look as she took a bite from a piece of bacon.

Regan used her fork to gesture at Emma. “When did you know you wanted to be a part of their world? Like, I loved reading magazines, but I never thought I wanted to write in them.”

“Almost immediately.” Emma scoffed out a laugh at her young self. “I’d write articles for my grandmother constantly.”

Regan’s interest was apparent as she set her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her fist and looking at Emma with her full attention. “Do you still write? I mean – I know that’sthe goal, right? But, like, your days at work aren’t filled with writing.”

Emma’s chewing slowed that creeping self-consciousness returning. “Uh, not… really.” She hedged after she swallowed.

“Ohhhh,” Regan sang out, eyebrows lifting as she leaned in even closer to Emma. “Not reallyalso meansyes, a little.”

Regan stared at her unwaveringly. Emma stared back, that squirmy nervous feeling in her stomach.

“Fine,” she gave in after a few seconds. “I don’treallywrite. Like, I’m not writing books or articles or anything. I…” She licked her lips before admitting, “I have a bookstagram. Where I write reviews of the novels I read.”

Regan reeled back, her face filled with shock and delight. “Emma!”

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