Page 59 of When the Fake Snow Falls

There’s no cocky smirk or playfulness to his voice when he says, “No. That was—” He swallows and nods. “That was good.”

I take a step back despite everything inside me screaming to jump him. I was hoping the distance would clear my head, but getting a better look at him definitely makes the fog worse. God, the things I would do to him if I didn’t think things would go downhill from there.

Chase clears his throat, and it’s only then that I realize my eyes were dragging down the scope of his body. I blink, and a fresh wave of heat washes over me. Spinning around, I look for something to keep me busy. I grab a comb from my station and tuck it into my bag for no particular reason, and then walk over to my cabinet and act like I’m searching for something, but I can feel his eyes on me the whole time. “So, no advice for the dress, then?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Candace.”

Something in the way he says my name sends my heart into a frenzy. Pausing my pointless search, I slowly turn to face him.

“That was a good kiss.”

“Yeah,” I say, suddenly out of breath again. “It was.”

His warm, brown eyes look darker than I’ve ever seen, but he doesn’t make an attempt to move or speak. He just looks at me, and the weight of his gaze could drop me to my knees. And once I’m on my knees—nope. Not going there.

I close my cabinet and force myself back to reality—the reality where this is practice for a performance. “Think we’ll be able to convince your coworkers?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just stands with his back against my station, but in a fraction of a second, his demeanor shifts. He blinks, snapping out of whatever thoughts he just had and as he pushes off, he says, “Yeah. I’m not worried about it. Got everything you need?”

I nod, looking around the salon one last time. As terrifying as it was to have his full attention a moment ago, I deflate at his shift. “Yeah.”

“Great. I’ll walk you home.”

Now it’s my turn to scrutinize him. He’s still pleasant, but the closeness we shared has vanished. We’re back to being us—friends. He turns and opens the door, and I thank him as he holds it open. “You don’t have to walk me home.”

Chase shakes his head before looping his arm over my shoulder. “It’s late. I’m walking you home.”

And as much as I want to fight him on it, I don’t. Because he’s touching me again, and all I can do is replay the kiss we shared and think about my newfound appreciation for mistletoe.

twenty-six

Miles makes a face. “Absolutely not.”

I stare down at the long black dress on the hanger in front of me. Miles has turned down every single one of my finds, but he hasn’t suggested a single dress. He just browses through the racks with a face of determination and an unwillingness to consider anything with sleeves.

“How is it hideous? It’s just a black dress.”

He answers without looking. “My point exactly.”

I stare at him, waiting for more of an explanation, but he continues his search. I let out a groan and stare up at the ceiling, collecting myself before I tackle the next row. We’ve been at it for almost an hour, and I haven’t tried anything on.

“Should I just wait for you to find whatever you’re looking for?” I point a thumb over my shoulder at the pair of chairs where disgruntled husbands usually sit.

“No . . .” Miles drags out the word. “Youshould be looking for something sexy instead of trying to dress like a scandalous nun for this thing.” He picks up one dress and considers it for a moment before tossing it over his forearm. “You set the bar with that black dress you wore on your date, and I know thisoccasion calls for something a little different, but the man has expectations now.”

I scoff. “I doubt it. He wasn’t exactly helpful when I asked him for specifics.” My mind wanders back to Chase listing off decorations before finally landing onmistletoe.That was easily the best first kiss I’ve ever had, and I’m still trying to figure out if that should disappoint me, or if I should be elated by it.

“Which dress did you just pick up?” I point to the material draped over his arm.

Miles glances down at the dark piece of fabric before waving me off. “It has potential, but I’m not convinced it’s the one.”

“At this rate, we’ll never findthe one.Let me try it on.”

He holds up the dress in my direction like he’s trying to imagine it on me. “I guess it can’t hurt,” he finally says, handing it over.

Happily snatching it from his hand, I head to the dressing room with Miles at my heels.

“I’ll wait here for the big reveal.” He takes a seat in one of the chairs outside the women’s fitting room, and I slip inside. I know he wants Chase’s jaw to hit the floor when he sees me Friday night. I want that too, but I don’t think I have to go for solid sex appeal the way Miles is thinking. I’m sure if I find a nice dress that’s flattering for my body, he’d have the same type of reaction.

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