Page 57 of When the Fake Snow Falls

“You too,” Miles says with a laugh, like evenheknows Chase won’t let this haircut thing go.

We say our goodbyes and head out in opposite directions.

The night air feels dry and cool against my skin. Year round, the city has string lights over the cobblestone streets, but for the month of December, the trees are wrapped in red and green twinkling lights, too. The whole scene makes our little downtown feel more magical at night.

As Chase and I walk, we’re practically shoulder to shoulder. Our arms brushing now and then, and each time they do, I take in the clean scent of him.

“Didn’t want to keep the party going?” I ask.

He gives me a warm smile. “I am keeping it going.”

I let out a breath of laughter that comes out sounding more like a scoff. “Right.” Before he can say more, I offer, “I know I joked to stay away from Amanda, but you guys seemed to hit it off. If you like her, I’m sure she’d be interested.”

He stops in his tracks, and by the time I turn around, I’m a few paces ahead of him. “You think I like Amanda?”

“I think you two have things in common, and she seems like your type.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, Candace.” Walking back toward me, he tsks the whole way, “Candace, Candace, Candace.”

“What?” I ask with a laugh. “She’s adorable.”

He nods. “She is.”

“And sweet.”

“Very.”

“And blonde.”

His lips press into a tight-lipped smile as he holds up a finger. “Ah, there it is.”

I let out a laugh. “What? I’m trying to help you.”

He sticks both hands in his pockets. “That’s not how you can help me, and we both know it.”

Now it’s my turn to stop in my tracks. Something about his response hits differently. Something has shifted. I don’t know what, and I’m not sure when, but this is more than fake dates and practice. It has to be.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t turn around. He just keeps walking, and says over his shoulder, “Come on. Your salon is up here.”

Is he mad? I’ve never seen Chase upset, but the subtle change is noticeable. I scramble to catch up with him, but he still makes it to the salon door before me. Leaning up against the front of the building, he waits for me to get my key.

“Let me make one thing clear,” Chase says as he watches me fumble with the lock. “I stayed and hung out with Miles tonight for you, and I got to know Amanda tonight for you.”

I give him a sideways glance as I unlock the door. “I never asked you to do either of those things.”

He shakes his head as I pull the door open. Catching the edge with his hand, he holds it open for me, his arm above my head. “That’s not my point,” he says as I walk past him. I go to my station and get the small case with my shears inside the drawer, but I can feel him watching me. “My point is that as great as your friends are, it’s not about them. It’s about you. It’s always about you.”

twenty-five

It’s about me?I stare at him, not sure what to say back to that. Part of me wants to call him a liar. It hasn’t always been about me. It’s not like I’m the one who needs a stand-in date for my company’s Christmas party.

But the way he looks at me makes me want to believe him. I think Idobelieve him. At least when it comes to this. The wordwhyis on the tip of my tongue, but I pull it back. The way he’s intently watching me is too much for me to keep this conversation on the track it’s going. Something in my gut tells me I shouldn’t dig for what he means because we’re wandering into dangerous territory. When I first met Chase, everything about him screamed that he plays the field and would only want to keep things casual, but the way he’s looking at me now has me second guessing myself. He has no business looking at me this way, and I have no business tripping over that look.

Changing the subject, I ask, “So, how fancy are we talking for this Christmas party? I want to make sure I get the right dress.”

He looks down like he’s collecting himself before answering. “You’ll look amazing in anything you wear. You couldshow up in a T-shirt, and you’d still steal the show.” His mouth lifts, and I’m grateful for the familiar playfulness behind his eyes. “Just get something you like, and let me pay for it.”

“That is . . . wildly unhelpful but thank you.” I drop the case with my shears into my bag and cross my arms. “What about the decorations? Are we talking chandeliers and ice sculptures or cozy with greenery?”

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