Page 10 of When the Fake Snow Falls

Unknown Number:

You’ve lost me. How exactly is this good news?

Your terrible taste in pizza is hardly something to celebrate.

The corners of my mouth twitch, and I playfully glare at my phone even though he can’t see me.

Candace:

The bad news is that I’m not the barista, but there’s a good chance she will have excellent taste in pizza for you.

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I intentionally catfished the guy. I’m sure he’ll understand.

But it’s still embarrassing.

He had no interest in me, and the fact that I wrote my number on his receipt makes it indisputable that I was interested in him. I can’t back out and pretend I didn’t mean to give him my number. I found him attractive, I texted him back, and I knew exactly who I was talking to the entire time.

He, on the other hand, never thought twice about the girl who stood behind him in line today.

I jump when my phone buzzes in my hands.

Unknown Number:

You’re not?

Who are you?

I frown. They’re easily the least playful messages he’s sent so far. All flirtation gone, the butterflies in my stomach, dead.

Before I can respond, another message from him comes in.

Unknown Number:

Oh! Danishes?

I wonder if he still thinks I was looking at Danishes when I was clearly checking him out to the point of accidentally giving him my number when he didn’t want it.

Candace:

Yeah.

When a response doesn’t come, I send a follow up text out of panic.

Candace:

I’m sorry for getting in the way.

I smooth my hands over my hair and let out a breath. Well, at least it’s done. Band-Aid officially ripped off.

Unknown Number:

You liked me?

I arch an eyebrow.

Candace:

To be fair, I don’t know you.

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