Page 64 of When the Fake Snow Falls

I’m tempted to write back saying the only thing I fully support is him never wearing a shirt again, but I don’t think that would be helpful for either of us.

Candace:

Send me your address, and don’t do anything stupid before I get there.

twenty-eight

A half hour later,I’m standing in front of Chase’s high-rise apartment. If anything is clear after the conversation I had with Nicolette today, it’s that he makes more money than I do. When Miles and I were shopping for apartments, we didn’t even look in this area because we couldn’t afford it—and that’s withtwoincomes.

Inside, the espresso doors contrast with the cool white walls, and the whole vibe of the place makes me feel like I’m in an art museum. I had to stop by the salon to grab my shears and a few other things on my way here. I thought about turning back and changing my mind at least five times, but I know Miles wouldn’t have it. He’s right about Chase not becoming my client. I can always tell him I don’t want to cut his hair later. I just wish we weren’t opening this door in the first place.

Contradicting my thoughts, I raise my knuckles to the dark wood and knock. It only takes a moment for Chase to answer. Even though he put a shirt on, he still looks hot. His gray sweats casually hang on his hips and the white T-shirt paired with them stretches over his frame in all the right places.

“Candace,” he says with a grin, like he wasn’t expecting me. “Come on in.” He steps aside.

“Hey.” I try my best to give him a convincing smile, even though I’m still not sure if I should be here.

His apartment is stunning. Modern. Sleek. Clean. A large black leather couch takes up the open concept family room and faces a massive TV mounted to the wall. Behind it sits a large kitchen where an impressive island houses the sink.

“Chase,” I say quietly as a marvel at the high ceilings and dark accents against the light floors and walls. “Your place is gorgeous, but . . .” I turn to face him. “There’s no Christmas tree.”

He moves his hands to his pockets and leans up against the entryway like watching me take it all in is fun for him. He shrugs. “It’s just me. Seems kind of pointless to decorate.”

I gape at him. “But it’sChristmas.” Staring around the beautiful, but sterile room, I add, “Florida hardly feels like Christmas. Literally all we have are decorations.”

He points over his shoulder. “Say the word and I’ll fill the place with fake snow.”

I give him a warning look before my eyes trail over the sleek fireplace made of dark tile, and I point to the mantle. “You could hang some stockings.”

“It’s just me,” he reiterates.

“Or garland.”

“I’d be vacuuming up plastic pine needles every hour.”

I give him a sideways glance. “You do seem a little . . .meticulous.” Turning to face him, I take in the entire scene, assessing Chase, not for the first time. “And put together.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I like things a certain way.”

Taking a few steps toward him, I stop to examine him a little more closely. He’s watching me with mild apprehension behind those beautiful eyes, and even though his posture staysrelaxed, I have a feeling he’s reconsidering letting me come here.

My fingers run through his locks before pulling the strands out at an angle to check the length. “It’s been driving you crazy not to cut your hair, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, but every time you run your hands through it, it’s worth it.”

My hand stills in his hair, and we lock eyes. “Why not just get it cut where you’d usually go?”

“You’re prettier than my barber.”

Dismissing his comment with a shake of my head, I pull my hand from his hair and look around. “Well, where do you have the best light?”

Moving away from the doorframe, he cuts to the other end of the living room and flips a light on near his kitchen table. The lighting is still a lot softer than what I’d have in the salon, but it will do. Chase pulls out a chair and takes a seat. He’s so beautiful in his element this way. Seeing him in sweats, sitting in his apartment, might even beat the version of him I love seeing on weekends. It’s like the more casual he becomes, the more attracted I am. I brace myself for my next sentence. “You should probably take off your shirt.”

He raises his eyebrows, that adorable smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You want me to take my shirt off?”

“Unless you want hair in it. I forgot to grab a cape.”

“How convenient.” He lets out a laugh as he pulls his shirt over his head. He methodically folds the shirt before setting it on the table.

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