Page 63 of When the Fake Snow Falls

Chase:

Let me clarify.

I need you to give me a haircut.

Miles shakes his head. “Why don’t you just cut the man’s hair? You just did mine, and now I look fabulous.” He flips a piece of invisible hair over his shoulder.

Candace:

Let me also clarify. Again.

I’m not cutting your hair.

“Because,” I say as I type back my response. “I don’t need him becoming a client. I don’t know if I’ll want to see him every six weeks after this.”

Chase:

Candace.

I’m about to take out the kitchen scissors.

Don’t think I won’t do it.

“Now he’s threatening me with kitchen scissors,” I say flatly.

“I’m glad I know the context behind that statement.” Milesshakes his head. “Just cut his hair. If things end badly, or if you don’t want to see him again after this,thenyou can tell him no. But there’s no point in not cutting his hair now.”

Candace:

Don’t you dare.

Looking up at Miles, I sigh. “If he comes to the salon, he’s going to draw attention. He brought me coffee the other day, and Amanda could hardly walk a straight line. The more people in my life who meet him and think there’s something going on between us, the more questions I’ll have to answer when this is all over.”

A picture comes in from Chase, and I pause before opening it. He’s never sent me a picture, and for some reason, I’m thrilled by the new development. Tapping on my screen, a full-sized picture of Chase standing in his bathroom comes into view. He’s leaning toward the mirror, his eyes trained on his reflection while he holds a pair of black kitchen scissors near the top of his head. His tongue pokes out between his lips in concentration and . . . he’s shirtless.

“Holy shit.” Miles snatches the phone from my hand to get a better look. “Daddy Chase is fucking ripped.”

“Would you give that back?” I ask, trying not to sound flustered.

He does, but he moves in closer, so his eyes never have to leave the photo. “Candace.”

I stare at the picture and swallow hard. “Yes, Miles?”

“Go cut that man’s hair.”

I nod, in a trance from the sight of Chase’s bare chest. “Yeah. I should probably do that.”

“And when you’re done . . .”

“Yes, Miles?”

“Lick his fucking skin off.”

I laugh and push him away before trying to type my nexttext. My thumbs hover over the keyboard when another message appears.

Chase:

Should I take your silence as full support?

---