Page 23 of When the Fake Snow Falls

Or not enough?

I settle on him again with his kind eyes and soft looking lips. With his broad shoulders and muscular forearms. Nothing about this man says friendship. Everything about him says he could fuck me against his bedroom wall.

I mentally scold myself. For my own sanity, I need to find what it is that makes him less attractive. There’s always something. When you first meet someone, they’re full of potential. All the things theycouldbe. But, of course, they’re never really those things. There’s always something that comes as a slight disappointment, like maybe he always talks about the future instead of enjoying the present. Maybe he goes on and on about weekends by the lake with all the in-laws and cousins, and every mention of your future hypothetical children feels like a death sentence.

Shaking off the memories, I blurt, “I don’t want kids.” The words come out in a panic, and I finish off the rest of my wine.

Pulling his head back, he blinks. “I don’t like chocolate.”

My words stutter, catching on my tongue. I needed him to say hedoeswant kids. I needed that deal-breaker out in the open. His wanting kids would have been the perfect thing to friend-zone him. “Y—what?” I finally get out.

“Oh, is it my turn again?” He thinks, making a dramatic show of it. “I also don’t like the Marvel movies.”

I stare at him, a bewildered smile slowly spreading on my face. “You . . . that’s not what I was trying to do,” I say with a laugh.

He cocks an eyebrow and there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “No? So, you just thought that I—as your friend—needed to know your stance on childbearing?”

My cheeks flush. “No.” I shake my head, suddenly wishing I had stopped at two glasses instead of three. “I don’t know.”

“Look, Candace.” He leans forward to level with me, and I catch a whiff of his intoxicating cologne, warm spices and teakwood flooding my senses. “I think it’s great you don’t want kids—fantastic even. But I think the more pressing issue here is how difficult it can be to find a good dessert without chocolate in it.”

A faint smile pulls at my lips, but it feels like something inside me is cracking. I was hoping he’d argue with me. I was hoping his response would drive a wedge between us—something tangible I could use to separate myself from him. But instead, he somehow gave me the best response anyone has ever given me. “Oh, I think you have plenty of options,” I say in a feeble attempt to recover.

“It can’t have fruit either. All the desserts without chocolate always have fruit for some reason. What’s the deal with that?”

Laughter bubbles in my chest, and the way he smiles in response makes me ache for something. For the rest of the night, I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly, but I know it’s something I’ve never had.

eleven

In the reflectionof the mirror, I make eye contact with my client, Michelle. My fingers run through her new cut and color, lightly giving her hair movement so she can see the added layers. We threw in a few lowlights too, since she was becoming “too blonde” as she put it.

I was tempted to tell her about the guy I recently met who would likely disagree but stopped myself. I don’t usually tell my clients about my personal life—at least nothing I can’t predict the outcome of, anyway. They know Miles is my roommate. They know I don’t have any pets, but he’s constantly talking about getting a cat. They know I used to bartend after I did hair all day, and they celebrated with me when I finally took the leap to go full time. They know the safe things—theeasythings.

I make a point not to tell clients about the men I’m interested in, secret aspirations, or deep, dark secrets. And right now, Chase feels a little like all three.

After getting drinks, we walked around the city for a while. We got ice cream from a local creamery and ate as we strolled the streets, talking about everything and nothing. Theconversation felt natural. It had none of the back-and-forth interview feel that usually comes with a first date.

Eventually, we ended up outside my apartment, even though his car was parked in front of the wine bar. Him walking me to my door was a sweet gesture, for afriend,but even as we stood there, saying goodnight, I was drawn to him. Thanks to the wine, I’m almost certain I watched his mouth as he said goodnight instead of looking him in the eye, and when he reached out a hand and said, “This was fun, Candace,” it felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

Itwasfun. It was the most fun I’ve had on a date in a long time—friends or not. Maybe that’s why I keep replaying the night in my head. Going over his comments and motions. Analyzing times when hecouldhave been flirting but wasn’t.

He paid for my drinks, insisting I’d be able to do the same next time.

He walked me home.

He texted me as soon as he got home with a, “I can’t tell you how much I needed that,” text.

He has done all the things I’d want him to do if it were a real date. Even the past few days have been sprinkled with random texts to make me laugh, and I’m not sure how he does it. It feels like he knows me so well even though we met less than a week ago.

And through Miles’s entire interrogation afterward, I couldn’t stop smiling.

“It’s perfect like always!” Michelle puts a hand on my arm, forcing me back to the present. “Please, don’t ever leave. I don’t think I could trust anyone else with my hair.”

Giving her a warm smile, I reassure her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She grins and gets to her feet to dig out cash from herpurse. While she’s counting, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. Somehow, I know it’s Chase.

After saying goodbye to Michelle with a quick hug, I tuck the money into my apron and pull out my phone. Sure enough, Chase’s name stares at me from the notification bar, and I have to bite back my smile.

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