Page 3 of When the Fake Snow Falls

I glance up to take inventory of my surroundings. Most people working in the area have already taken their lunch break, but there are still a few stragglers crossing the cobblestone street as I head to the salon.

Beauty Mark Salon & Styling Bar sits nestled between a chic boutique on one side and one of those wine and craft places on the other. I love seeing people make an entire afternoon out of this tiny strip of sidewalk.

My hand slips from the cool metal handle when another text comes in.

Mom:

It’s booked! Wish you were coming with us Candy Cane!

Candace:

Me too. Love you both.

Four messages come in back-to-back showing gifs of bears drawing hearts and emojis blowing kisses.

The bell dings over my head as I pull open the door, and our assistant greets me before looking up. “Welcome to BeautyMark!” Amanda calls out over the chatter of other stylists and their clients.

“It’s just me.” I smile at her and head to my station. Just like the coffee shop, the salon manager has started spreading the holiday cheer. Mistletoe hangs sporadically from the ceiling, holly and garland drape the front desk and frame the doorways, and there’s even a Charlie Brown style Christmas tree tucked in the corner.

Amanda beams when she sees that it’s me. “Oh! Hey, Candace. Your three o’clock called and said she might get here a few minutes before her appointment. She was wondering if you could take her early.”

I take a sip of my drink and nod. “Of course.” I should have known better than to duck out because I know exactly which client she’s referring to. Giving Amanda a look she knows all too well, I say, “I swear Nicolette just likes to keep people on their toes.”

She lets out a snort. “Probably.”

My eyes fall to the sad excuse for a lunch I packed this morning: half a leftover salad and a yogurt. Neither of which I can eat quickly and gracefully if my client is about to walk through the door. My eyes wander to the coffee I just set down at my station.You, my friend, have been upgraded to lunch.

Neatly hanging my cardigan on the wall hook, I reach for my black apron and slip it over my head. I tie the strings behind my back as I eye myself in the mirror. My shoulder length dark hair is styled and waved. I added a little purple on the ends last week, and I’m happy with how well the color has held. It’s rare that I have down time at the salon, but when I do, it usually means a new color gets put in my hair. I’ve had blonde, blue, pink, red, and now purple—most of which I’ve let Amanda do so she can practice. She’s a few years younger than me, but we hit it off from day one.

Securing the bow behind my back, I give myself one lastlook before I plaster on my customer service smile and act like I didn’t just skip lunch. Without my cardigan, the inked lines of roses and lilies trailing from my right shoulder are on full display. I have a few smaller tattoos scattered about, but the half sleeve is the most noticeable. Everything else is from when I was a teenager and still wanted the option of hiding them if I needed to.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I wonder what great detail my parents forgot to include about their trip. But the notification isn’t from my parents. It’s from an unknown number.

Unknown Number:

I know you’re probably working, but I had to say thank you. Getting your number made this shitty Tuesday feel like a Friday.

My heart stutters. With all the talk of my parents’ holiday plans, I had almost forgotten about the guy at the coffee shop. The reminder has me buzzing with energy, and my Tuesday suddenly feels a lot more like a Friday, too.

two

It’s a simple text,but it’s charming. He’s flirting. It’s subtle, but just the thought of the man I saw this morning flirting with me has my nerves jacked.

There was something different about him, but I can’t put my finger on it. I have no idea what made me gawk to the point of toppling over. I went out with a pretty hot guy last week, so it’s not like I’ve never seen a man dripping with sex appeal.

Unknown Number:

And by Friday, I mean Christmas. You somehow made it feel like Christmas.

I almost laugh. Two texts in a row? He has to be bold or desperate. Either way, I find it refreshing. Putting yourself out there always feels like a standoff. You can’t show you care too much because you might scare them away, but if you don’t seem like you care at all, they think you’re not interested. The whole back and forth is exhausting.

Candace:

If it means that much to you, next time I’ll bring the fake snow.

My phone pings before I even have a chance to set it down.

Unknown Number:

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