Page 41 of When the Fake Snow Falls

I let out a sigh and tease, “Such a damsel.”

He grins. “I am. I’m a hopeless damsel who needs you, Candace.”

“But I’m sure you could find a real date for this party.”

He tilts his head, an eyebrow raised in interest. “Well, I was sort of trying to do that when we met.”

Realization hits me. Of course, he was. “Oh, the barista would have loved this.”

“Layla,” he corrects with the corner of his mouth quirked.

“Right, Layla. Well, she’s missing out.”

His smile stretches further. “I’m sure she’s happily doing something with her boyfriend.” He crosses his arms on the table and leans closer. “What about you?”

I blink. “What about me?”

“Why are you single?”

“Well, I’m certainly not taking people to places like this.”

“I don’t think you’d need to.”

The way he’s looking at me is starting to make me sweat. He’s too focused. Too intense. Too determined to see what’s beneath the surface. I swallow down the thought. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

He smiles a little more at that. “I have a feeling it isn’t hard to find someone eager to date you.”

Crossing my arms on the table, I match his position. “Well, if you ask Miles, I’m too picky.”

“And if I don’t ask Miles?”

I hold his gaze, my eyes searching his for an answer. “I don’t know,” I finally say. “I like my life, so unless someone is going to make it substantially better, it feels like a waste.”

He nods, taking in what I’ve said. “Sounds perfectly reasonable.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I take another sip of my wine. “Plus, there just aren’t enough bearded blonde men with tattoos in the world.”

“Tragedy,” he says with a sad shake of his head. “That’s not the type of guy you usually go for, though.”

“It could be.” I shrug. “I think how attractive someone is goes beyond the physical.” I give him a pointed stare. “I would never limit myself to just blondes.”

A teasing smile plays at his lips. “I never said Ionlydate blondes. I said I usually go for blondes.”

I roll my eyes.

He takes a sip of his drink. “You really don’t have a type?”

I stare down the gorgeous butcluelessman in front of me. Our salads arrive and we both sit up straight to make room for the plates.

“Chase,” I say as I stab my fork into the most beautifully plated garden salad I’ve ever seen.

He pauses before taking a bite, like my saying his name is of the utmost importance.

My cheeks heat. “I did give you my number, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten.” He moves his salad around with his fork. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

I glare at his smug expression as he takes his first bite before I go back to eating my own food.

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