Page 8 of When the Fake Snow Falls

“I’m fine,” I say too quickly. “I mean, I barely know the guy. I’m not heartbroken.”

He takes another sip of his drink. “But?”

I hold his stare before letting out a sigh as I set my food down and finally relent. He knows me too well. “He just had this vibe. This . . . presence.” I wave my hand aimlessly as I try to put my finger on it. How do I describe what made him stand out when I barely understand it myself? My eyes widen when I land on it. “He was like Ryan Gosling inCrazy Stupid Love.”

Miles tilts his head as he recalls the movie. “Hot,” he acknowledges. “Dressed well?”

I crack a smile. “Impeccable taste.” I take a moment to figure out what I’m trying to convey, but all I can think to say is, “He just had this way about him . . . like he could steal the attention of an entire room likethat.” I snap my fingers. “And he looked like he’d be willing to do theDirty Dancinglift.”

“Weird. But it sounds like he made quite the impression, so why not see if he’d be interested in you instead?” He does a little shoulder shimmy. “Tell him what a freak you can be and change his mind.”

I let out a breath of laughter. “Are you ever not thinking about sex?”

“Rarely,” he says matter of fact. “And those few minutes are easily the worst part of my day.”

I roll my eyes. “Tragic.”

“I’m just saying, you could do it. There’s no reason for him not to like you,” he says, ignoring my point.

“He didn’t mean to ask me out. I might not even be his type.” I’m not going to ask this guy for any favors—especially not one that involves a date.

Miles gives me an expectant look.

“What?” I ask as I scoop another heap of queso onto a chip. That look always makes me uncomfortable. It’s the look he gives when he’s about to tear into me like Miranda Priestly and demand I change my clothes.

“Trust me, you’re his type. Either that orI’mhis type.” He shrugs and shifts his attention back to his food. “Which, I mean, who could blame him?”

My lips twist, and I’m tempted to flick another chip at him. “Fine.”

With glittering eyes, he nods toward my phone. “Well, what are you going to say?”

I groan, not even Paco’s Tacos can bring me solace. “Nothing while you’re watching.” I flip my phone over on the kitchen counter, placing it face down. “I’ll figure it out later.”

“You do that.”

I let out a breath. “He’ll be disappointed.”

He nods. “Maybe.”

I shrug. “And that’ll be it.”

“I see.”

I blink, waiting for more.

Miles takes another bite, ignoring my confusion. He looks around the apartment aimlessly before settling his eyes back on me. “Oh. Would you like to know what I think?”

I give him a heavy-lidded stare. “Do tell.”

He takes a deep breath like he’s preparing a monologuenow that I’ve consented to listening, and I’m suddenly rethinking my answer. “Look, babe. Did this guy mean to ask you out? No. But does that mean he wouldn’t be interested in you? Fuck no.” He gestures toward me. “Look at how cute you are! And you’re never overly excited about the guys you meet—or even the guys you date lately. So, the fact that you’re disappointed means this guy caught your interest.” He looks me up and down before shrugging. “You might dress like a peasant, but I can help with that. You have a lot to offer.”

A faint smile pulls at my lips. “Already eager to help?”

“I’ll answer that after I meet him.”

“Oh, you’d love him.” I give him a reassuring nod.

“Mhm. I bet I would.” Miles lets out a laugh and goes back to eating. I do the same, but I can’t help thinking about what he said.

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