Page 18 of When the Fake Snow Falls

He raises an eyebrow. “You just never struck me as being this petty.”

I balk at him. “Petty?I’m just trying to avoid getting involved with a fuckboy.”

He rolls his eyes. “How do you even know he asked out the other girl, anyway?”

“He told me.” I take another sip and try to hide how much I’m still stuck on being calledpettyof all things.

Miles lets out a snort of laughter. “So, if he’s a fuckboy, he’s bad at it.”

I shrug. “Maybe?” I honestly don’t know what type of guy Chase is. “Either that, or he’s overly honest.”

He gives me a dubious look. “Well, aren’t we suddenly generous?”

I’m almost afraid to ask, but I say, “With what?”

Miles waves his hand aimlessly in the air. “All thisbenefit of the doubtwe’re giving.”

I roll my eyes. “I turned him down, didn’t I?”

“And what did he say?”

“What do you mean?”

Without breaking his unwavering stare, he says, “What did he say when you turned him down?”

Sucking in my lips, I shake my head. He knows me too well.

“Candace.”

“Okay,” I say, forcing out a breath. “I may have lied and said I was busy.” I hold up a finger. “But I did tell him that when we reschedule, it’s strictly as friends.”

Miles sits up straight and does a slow clap. “Bravo. Way to lay down the hammer. Show that fuckboy what you’re made of.” When I don’t give his snide remark the time of day, he grabs his phone and starts typing.

“What are you doing?”

Without looking at me, he says, “Finding him.”

“Wait. Why?” My attempt to hide my panic is pointless.

“To see if he’s a fuckboy or if he’s just ‘overly honest.’” He gives me a pointed stare on those last two words, and I stick my tongue out at him.

Miles will find him. I’m convinced Miles can find anyone. I once dated a guy who played intramural softball, and he found a guy on the opposing team without so much as his name just because he thought he was cute.

I’m more worried about what the consensus will be once he does find him.

Getting to his feet, Miles walks up to me. “Is this him?” He flips his phone around for me to see a smiling photo of Chase.

Chase Mitchell.

I gape at him. “How did you do that so fast?” Even knowing his capabilities, I’m always impressed by them.

Miles lets out a sigh like he was hoping this one would be more of a challenge. “He follows Southern Roast.”

I tilt my head. “Huh, I don’t even think I follow them, and they’re my favorite coffee shop.”

Miles scrolls. “He follows a lot of business pages, but I can’t decide if that’s a red flag.”

I move closer to him so I can get a better look at the screen. “He doesn’t look like a fuckboy based on his feed.” It doesn’t look like he posts often, but when he does, they’re usually pictures of things—a coffee, food, a stunning beach landscape.

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