Page 29 of When the Fake Snow Falls

“Why can’t you sleep?”

Chase sighs. “Work, stress . . . more work, more stress.”

I’ve reached the front of my apartment and head inside. “What do you do?”

“Advertising. And my boss . . . Well, she’s a piece of work sometimes.”

“I thought you said your boss loves you?” I try to keep my voice steady as I walk through the lobby.

A humorless laugh travels over the phone. “Oh, she does. Maybe a little too much. That’s actually why I need your help for the Christmas party.”

“Okay?” I say, not sure where this is going.

“Look, I love my job. I’m up for a promotion, so I never say no to anything the company asks. I put in the extra hours and all that, but my boss . . . She’s very nice, but . . .” There’s a pause.

“Chase, just say whatever you’re trying to say.” I fiddle with the keys in my lock, and wonder if Miles is home, or if he’ll come home at all tonight. He mentioned going on a date.

“Last year at the Christmas party, she got drunk and cornered me under the mistletoe.” The words come out in a rush, and I stop what I’m doing, my ears catching up, processing on a delay. After a pause, he goes on to say, “Avoiding her for the rest of the party was exhausting, and I don’t want to do it again. I thought if I brought a date this year, she’d get the message.”

“You’d rather bring a fake date than just tell her you’re not interested?” I’ve started moving again, and when I head into my apartment, it’s empty. I turn on a table lamp and lie back on the couch.

He groans. “I have told her, Candace. You don’t understand.”

Something in his voice makes me take him more seriously. “Have you filed anything with HR?”

“No, I don’t want to. I mean—Iwantto, but not until I get my promotion. Who knows, by then she won’t be my boss anymore, so it will probably stop. Right now, I think she just feels like she has this power over me or something. I’ve told her it will never happen. It’s all harmless for the most part, but she’s relentless.”

I frown. I had no idea he was dealing with so much stress related to his job. “Well, I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“Thanks. We can talk about it more later.” His words muffle like he’s running a hand over his face. “Did you make it home?”

“I did. Thanks for walking me.”

His laugh sounds tired. “Anytime. I mean it.”

My eyebrows furrow as I stare at my ceiling and run a hand through my hair. He seems like he cares—really cares.

Before I can ask, he says, “Hey, I should probably call it a night. The bourbon is kicking in, and I’m either going to fall asleep on the phone with you or start saying ridiculous shit I’llhave to explain in the morning. I’d rather not put you through either.”

I could argue that I’d be happy with either of those things happening, but instead, I smile even though he can’t see me and say, “Goodnight, Chase.”

“Goodnight, Candace.”

I don’t want to hang up, but I force myself to hit the red button first. Letting out a long breath, I imagine what going to this party with him means. Will he touch me? Kiss me? Will I be able to walk away from it all unscathed? The answers are most likely yes, yes, and . . . no.

fourteen

Sundays are my Saturdays.Nothing beats when the streets are vibrant and full of life. Miles and I usually get brunch, but even though I slept until almost 10:00 a.m. and have already cleaned most of the apartment, he still isn’t back.

The quiet buzz of what sounds like a small electric saw comes from upstairs, and I wonder what Lenny is up to as I pull out my phone and text Miles.

Candace:

Just checking in.

It’s not the first time he’s been out all night, but it’s rare. He must really like this guy. If he didn’t, he would have been back last night, or he would have snuck out early this morning. He doesn’t answer until after I’ve taken a shower and dried my hair. I’m standing in the bathroom, waiting for my curling iron to heat when he sends his text.

Miles:

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