Page 30 of When the Fake Snow Falls

Wait until I tell you about this man.

He can have my babies.

I snort a laugh as I type my response.

Candace:

Hear about him? I want to meet him after a statement like that.

This time, he immediately answers.

Miles:

All in time. I’ll be home later.

Lifting the hot iron, I grab a small piece of hair and smooth the iron over the strands before expertly twisting my wrist to form a curl. As much as I love styling other people’s hair, I don’t get the same enjoyment out of doing mine. It feels like work, and the last thing I want to do on my day off is work. Luckily, it isn’t too long, and it’s easy enough to style. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’d have the patience.

The only thing missing from my Sunday morning is a freshly brewed latte. Throwing on a pair of jeans with a black loose-fit shirt tucked in to the front, I grab my sunglasses and head out the door. I still wouldn’t say Floridafeels like winter,but today offers a welcome break in the heat. It’s the type of weather that lets you sit outside at a restaurant without being the thing that’s cooking, and around here, that’s all we can hope for.

There is a Christmas parade happening in the cobblestone streets. People crowd the edge of the sidewalk, leaving little room for anyone trying to go about their daily lives. As I weave through families and groups of friends, my lips lift at the sight. There’s something so wholesome about seeing everyone get together to watch dancing elves as “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” plays from a nearby candy cane float. The sight reminds me of the candy cane forest my parents usually put somewhere in their front yard, and I hope they’re enjoying the break this year.

But even with all the music and dancing elves, it’s someone else that catches my attention as I approach Southern Roast. At this point, I’d recognize his figure anywhere, but the sight of Chase still has my stomach free floating.

He stands in front of the shop like he’s debating going inside. His hand wipes across his mouth, and even though his face isn’t pressed up against the glass, it’s clear he’s trying to get a look inside.

His hair is more relaxed, like it was yesterday, and I have to fight the urge to run my fingers through the thick, brunette locks. The stubble on his face is a little more noticeable, too. He must not shave on weekends. He’s the type of guy who would lookgreatwith a beard, but I think I’d miss seeing his face if he grew one. His T-shirt should have a relaxed fit, but it’s a little tighter around his muscular arms and shoulders. The way the fabric stretches over his chest and back allows my mind to wonder what he might look like underneath.

Slipping my sunglasses on top of my head, I say, “Not here for the parade?”

He looks over at me and laughs before rubbing the back of his neck. Looking over his shoulder at the dance number happening behind him, he shakes his head. “I’m busted, aren’t I?”

Amusement pulls at my lips. “Looking for a certain barista?”

“Avoiding maybe?” He winces. “You’re here to save me, aren’t you?”

His words wrap me in warmth, but I try to shake it off by reaching for the door. When I pull it open and glance inside, there’s no sight of blonde hair anywhere. Looking back at him, I say, “The coast is clear, you big baby.”

Bouncing on his toes, he follows after me with a little more pep in his step. As he reaches for the door, holding it open, he asks, “So, what are you doing here? Meeting someone?”

I shake my head while my eyes scan the menu boards above. “Nope. I was planning on grabbing something to go.”

Keeping his eyes on the boards above, he shrugs next to me. “Or we could stay.”

Not bothering to hide my surprise, I ask, “No plans?”

He shakes his head. “None I’d choose over this.”

I blink, unsure how to respond to that.

When I don’t say anything, he pulls his eyes away from the menus to look at me. “Well, that and we should probably discuss our agreement.”

He says it so casually, but those words echo in the back of my mind.

Our agreement.

The one where I’m supposed to pretend I’m this irresistible man’s girlfriend all while adamantly trying to resist him.

Yeah. We should probably discuss that.

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