Page 21 of When the Fake Snow Falls

“Sounds good. I’ll have those right out for you,” she says happily.

I look up at her and smile. “Thanks.” He’s still watching me with a slight lift to his lips when I bring my attention back to him. “What?” I ask.

“What made you decide to get drinks with me?”

My cheeks threaten to heat, but I tilt my head innocently before they have a chance to betray me. “Don’t you remember? You quite literally promised me ‘a great time.’ Maybe I need that right now.”

I’m walking a fine line between flirting and casualconversation, but nothing will happen between us. Chase hasfuckboywritten all over him, and regardless of what Miles says, I don’t think I’d want somethingthatcasual with him. Because as attractive as he is, he also gives off this odd sense of transparency I find refreshing. It’s too dangerous of a combination.

We get our drinks, and Chase holds up his glass for a toast. “To having a great time.” Our drinks lightly clink. Pausing before bringing the glass to his lips, he says, “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Everything about him is light, laid back, and open, but I can’t help digging for some underlying meaning between those words. Slowly taking a sip of wine, I don’t bother hiding how deeply I’m considering him with his well-pressed clothes and perfect hair. “I guess we’ll find out.”

ten

We’ve been herefor over an hour, and I wipe a stray tear from the corner of my eye, trying to rein in my laughter.

Chase leans forward, his eyes wide and wild. “It’s not funny! I boarded up her entire fucking house before that hurricane.” He presses his pointer finger against the tabletop in quick jabs. “Ten. Windows.Ten.Do you know how much work it is to cover windows with plywood alone? Have you ever done such a thing?”

I take a breath so there’s enough oxygen in my lungs for me to speak, but my voice still comes out high and squeaky with my futile attempt to hold back laughter. “But why would you do that after only one date?”

This isn’t the first ridiculous story he’s told, and everything hurts. My cheeks hurt from laughing, and my eyes burn from the makeup that is surely in them.

He gapes at me. “She asked!”

I take a sip from my third glass of Chardonnay and shake my head. “So? Why not pretend you were busy? If a hurricane was coming, you could have said you left the state to stay with family.”

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I liked her. But as soon as I was done, she told me she wanted to weather the storm alone. Both literally and figuratively.”

I shake my head, but my lips still twist with amusement. “Unbelievable.”

He takes a sip of his bourbon, not bothering to hide his tight-lipped smile. “I hope you’re referring to her and not me.”

“Oh, no. I’m definitely referring to you. After one date? What was so special about this girl?”

He opens his mouth but pauses before any words come out.

Pointing a finger at him, I say in a warning tone, “I swear to God, if you say she was blonde.”

He says nothing but sucks in his lips like he might combust if he doesn’t tell me how yellow this girl’s fucking hair was. My head shakes in disapproval.

He grimaces. “On second thought, she was more of a caramel?”

I give him a heavy-lidded stare. “You’re terrible, you know that? I hope you know how terrible you are.”

He grins, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m well aware.” Leaning toward me, he adds, “What about you? Worst first date.”

I know my worst first date by heart. It’s thefirst datestory I’ve told dozens of times. “Probably when a guy asked if I could pick him up and then when I got to his house, he said he wasn’t feeling well and asked if I could make him soup.”

Chase’s eyes widen. “Damn. He was looking for a wife to replace his mother, wasn’t he?”

I let myself take another sip before setting my glass down and nod. “You could say that.”

“How did the date end?”

My eyebrows pinch. “What do you mean?”

“Well, did you stay and make the soup, or did you slam the door in his face?”

---