Page 58 of When the Fake Snow Falls

“I don’t know. Expensive?” he says slowly as he looks around the salon for inspiration. “I’m sure there will be garland and Christmas trees of some variety or another.” His eyes lock on me before trailing to the ceiling above. “Mistletoe.”

I look up, and sure enough, I’m standing directly under one of the many mistletoe scattered around the salon. I swallow before sliding my gaze back to find him studying me.

“That’s still not exactly helpful.” My voice comes out quieter than I expected, but that probably has something to do with it being harder to breathe.

He smiles faintly and walks across my station until we’re both under the mistletoe.

“What are your thoughts on mistletoe?” he asks, his voice low.

I look up again. “I like them as much as any other Christmas decoration.”

Chase lets out a low laugh, pulling my eyes back to him, but he’s still looking above us. “Oh, come on. They’re easily the least useless of all the decorations. They at least serve a purpose.”

My lips turn upward, and I try to desperately hide how hard my heart is hammering in my chest when he brings his gaze back to mine. “I guess that’s a fair point.”

“I think so,” he agrees quietly.

Our eyes lock, and for a moment we’re both just standing toe-to-toe, looking at each other. He’s close enough for me to feel the heat coming off him. Close enough for me to smell thescent of fresh linens and his usual spice. If either of us shifted an inch, there’d be no space between us.

How much I crave to close that space is terrifying.

My breathing shallows, and Chase’s gaze dips to my mouth for a fraction of a second. There’s a seriousness about him again. Lost is the playful quirk of his lips or the mischievous glint in his eyes. The man standing before me looks like he’s full of heavy thoughts and deliberation. He glances up at the mistletoe again before settling his unwavering gaze back on me. “We should probably—” His focus shifts to my mouth again. “You know, we might as well . . . so we know what we’re doing.”

My voice is soft when I ask, “For practice?”

His eyes jump to meet mine. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think we should practice.”

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice all but completely gone.

But he doesn’t kiss me right away. His hand weaves into my hair, and that alone is enough to make my breath catch in my throat. His tongue wets his bottom lip, like just the thought of what he’s about to do has his body physically reacting.

I’m completely still. I think I’ve forgotten how to move. I barely remember how to breathe.

His thumb runs along my jaw, setting every fiber of my being ablaze. It isn’t until the seconds passing without his lips on mine turn to torture that I breathe out his name.

His stare jumps from my lips to meet my gaze.

“This is the part where you kiss me.”

And just like that, his eyes fall back to my mouth again. “I know,” he says, his voice rough. He swallows. “But if I fuck this up . . .” He shakes his head.

I open my mouth, but whatever I was about to say gets wiped away when his lips find mine. All hope of him being a bad kisser is also wiped away—along with every other thoughtI could have. I soften into him. All the tension I’ve held in my body, trying to keep this man at a distance, melts from solid ice to a puddle.

His warm, perfect lips drag over mine. And as they do, he somehow pulls me with him. I push up on my toes, not wanting this to end—trying to keep us connected in this magical moment for as long as I can.

When our lips threaten to part, I waste no time going back for more. I need it—craveit. If this is the only time I’ll kiss him while we’re alone, I want to make the most of it. My lips pull him back to me in a matter of seconds, and the way it unleashes some of his restraint only fuels me more.

Chase places his free hand on the other side of my face, cradling my head, and I let him tilt my face to kiss me deeper. I let him take control again, and I melt for him a million times over. His tongue expertly parts my lips, pulling a soft moan from the back of my throat, and that small sound has him kissing me deeper. When his tongue slides over mine, a heavy, wanting heat settles between my legs. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this . . . this feeling of hope . . . this feeling of surrender . . . thisturned on.My hands are in his hair, and I might as well be a teenager with how desperate I am for more.

I have no idea how much time has passed when we eventually pull apart. With heavy breaths, I imagine what I must look like in this moment: swollen lips, skin chafed from his weekend scruff, and I’m sure my hair is an absolute mess.

When Chase finally drops his arm and creates a crack of space between us again, he’s breathing hard, too. He’s disheveled, and something about knowing I’m the one who undid this perfect man has me dying to kiss him again.

“I don’t think you fucked it up,” I manage to say.

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