Page 32 of When the Fake Snow Falls

“It is,” he says appreciatively, like I’m the first person to understand what he’s been saying for years. He gets more comfortable as he leans back and rests his ankle on the opposite knee. “Anyway, thank you for agreeing to this.”

I take a small sip. “I’m not sure what I’m fully agreeing to, but you’re welcome.”

His lips quirk. “That’s why it’s great we ran into each other. We can iron out the details.”

Like how much he’ll have to touch me? And if we’ll kiss? And how many times? “Sounds good. When is it?”

“December 20th. It’s a Friday, after work.”

“Perfect. And how should I dress?”

“Very . . . nice.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Fancy?”

He winces. “A bit. If you want to buy a dress for it, I’ll cover the cost.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m sure I have something. My roommate can help with that.”

I try to think of a question outside of the ones that are screaming in my head about whether his mouth will be on mine at any point. He’s only ever touched my hand or my lower back—briefly—and it was enough to send my nerves into a frenzy. The thought of kissing him, even if it’s fake—even if it means absolutely nothing—has me equal parts excited and terrified. Excited because . . . well, look at him. And terrified because if he’s already affecting me this much, it’s going to be hard to stand my ground. My eyes have wandered to his lips again, and when my eyes flick up to meet his, he’s watching me intently.

I clear my throat and sit up straight. “Do I need to bring anything?”

A trace of a smile. “Just your wonderful company.”

“Right,” I say with a nod. “My company . . .” But it’s not just the pleasure of my company. If that were the case, we’d be going as friends.

There’s a slight crease between his brows, like he’s trying to read me. He leans forward to level with me, his coffee resting between his hands. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

I suppress a scoff. I’m not worried about the things I don’t want to do. I’m worried about the things I will want to do but shouldn’t. “But?”

A breath of laughter leaves him as he glances down at his cup before locking those mahogany eyes back on me. “But I’ve known these people for years. They know me.”

I know exactly what he’s implying, so I simply say, “And they won’t believe it unless . . .?”

He studies me. His eyes jumping between mine. His lips press together slightly, and he looks more serious this way, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Can I kiss you?”

Air gets stuck in my throat. Does he mean now? In the middle of this bustling coffee shop with all these people and dancing elves outside? My heart races, and my eyes dart to our surroundings, but I swallow hard and nod. “Okay.”

But he doesn’t make a move to kiss me. He doesn’t move at all. Those dark eyes just fall to my mouth, and he agrees, “Okay.”

“Anything else?” I cross my legs and take another sip, desperate to look like I didn’t think he was about to kiss me at this very moment.

His gaze shoots up to meet mine. “Maybe we should have a safe word.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “Asafe word?What exactly are you planning on doing to me?”

Those beautiful brown eyes widen. “Nothing like what you’re probably thinking,” he says quickly. He runs a handthrough his hair, and I love the way it always sticks up after he does. “I just want to make sure you’re comfortable. We should pick a word, and if either of us uses it, we’ll know we’ve crossed a line.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Either of us?”

“Well, yeah.” He tilts his head playfully. “Most of my girlfriends have touched me in one way or another.”

“Right.” My cheeks warm. Why am I so affected by this? Of course, I’ll have to play the part. Agreeing to this doesn’t just mean being touched and kissed by Chase, it means I’ll have to be the one doing those things, too. I blink the thoughts away. “Sure. A safe word is a good idea.”

He drums his fingers on the tabletop as he thinks. “What about ‘fake snow?’”

I laugh. “Will there be fake snow at the party? Because if so, there’s a good chance I’ll talk about it.”

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