Page 43 of When the Fake Snow Falls

“I don’t know,” I say with a light lift of my shoulder. “I’m probably in here at least once a week.”

He blinks. “Damn, you’ve been here all along, haven’t you?”

I’m not quite sure what he means by that, so I just tilt my head with a pinch of my brow. “I haven’t been far, that’s for sure.” Nodding to the menu boards hanging above, I add, “This one’s on me.”

With a shake of his head, he says, “Grab that table in the back corner while it’s still open. I’ll meet you over there. What can I get you?”

I hesitate, my mouth open and ready to fight him on this. I can’t let him pay for everything.

Keeping his voice low, his eyes jump between mine. “There’s no way I’m letting you spend a penny tonight.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“You don’t scare me, beautiful.”

A slow smile pulls at the corner of my lips. “You’re lying.”

His expression mirrors my own. “I am.” Straightening, he adds, “But the way I see it, you have two options. Either you can tell me what you want, or I’ll get you the same thing I order.” He gives me a sideways glance. “I’d love to see you down three tacos and a lager.”

My lips purse. “You know I don’t like beer.”

The line moves ahead of us, and he takes a step. “Which is why you should hurry up and tell me.”

With a shake of my head, I purse my lips. “Fine. Get me a chicken double-decker and a margarita with salt.”

A satisfied smile stretches across his chiseled features. “God, I love it when you’re bossy.”

“Unbelievable,” I huff with a shake of my head before ducking out of line. I take a seat in one of the chairs he pointed to earlier and try to wrap my head around the night I’m having. I’ve been in this taco place more times than I can count, and yet, being here with Chase makes it new.

He pays for our food and heads toward me with paper trays, a plastic cup holding a margarita, and his bottle of beer tucked under his arm. We’re severely overdressed, and the sight of him in his well-pressed clothes has a smile tugging at my lips.

As nice as he looks, being here with him makes me wish he were in a T-shirt like he was when we got coffee. There’s something sexy about seeing him more relaxed.Thisis the version of himself he always has on display. I want access to the lesser-known Chase—the version he reserves for weekends and those closest to him.

But the thought of taking polished Chase and turning him into a disheveled mess of a man is sexy, too.

Catching myself, I blink and refocus.

Chase moves his chair from across the small table so that it’s right next to mine before he settles into it. “Not close enough for you?” I tease.

He winks as he places my margarita and taco in front of me and rests his hand on the back of my chair. His fingers send little jolts of electricity across my back, leaving my skin buzzing in their wake. “At the party, you and I will be next to each other like this. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to get some tacos and see how it goes.”

“Tacos never hurt.” I take a bite and close my eyes for a moment as the perfect combination of flavors hits my tongue. When I come back, he’s watching me with a twinge of a smile.

“You look amazing.”

“It’s the power of the dress,” I say with a hand covering my mouthful. Swallowing, I sit up straight. “I promise I don’t look like this in anything else I own.”

“No,” he says with that same faint smile. He leans in closer. “Don’t get me wrong, that dress is . . .” He blows out a breath. “Certainly something, but you with a taco is where the real magic happens.”

A laugh escapes me, but I shake my head and go for another bite. “Eat, Chase.”

He does, watching me with amusement the entire time. “When are you going to cut my hair?”

Wiping my hands on a napkin, I stare at his brunette locks. They’re starting to have some wave to them. Reaching up, I run my hand through his hair, getting a feel for what he’s looking for with my fingertips. It’s something I do at work all the time, so I didn’t think anything of it. But the way this man melts at my touch brings me too much delight. I let my fingers trail down the back of his neck as I pull my hand back. “Don’t you have someone who usually cuts your hair?”

“Yes, but I like you more.”

My eyes snap to meet his. “I’m not cutting your hair.”

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