Page 35 of Texting My Secret Santa

“Okay,” Asher says. “I’ve called ahead and made sure it’s okay for you to record. They said it is, but they ask that you tag them in anything you upload to social media.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, touched.

Emotionally touched, not touched like last night.

“It’s no big deal,” Asher says.

He’s wrong. It’s thoughtful and sweet, a side to him I never would’ve dreamed about when I was a kid, and he called me those teasing nicknames. Last night was supposed to be an innocent prank, a “get-you-back” for my shower prank.

It turned into so much more.

What does that mean about today? It’s supposed to be a fun trip, “grab some video,” and soak in the Christmas theme. What if it turns into something else?

I grab the Secret Santa phone, deciding to find out once and for all if Asher’s my texting buddy before we go on this …date.

Can I think of it like that?

After packing my bag, I sneak down the hallway and peer around the doorframe into the kitchen. Asher sits at the kitchen island, sipping coffee and staring into the distance like he’s reliving lastnight. I need to ice myself. Why would I assume that? He could be thinking about anything.

Hiding behind the wall, I text. Me:I wasn’t ignoring you. I just don’t want to talk about this.

I’m almost sure I hear a vibrating noise from the kitchen.Almost. It could be the sound of the refrigerator or the heating.

I peer around the edge. He isn’t checking his phone. Maybe he left it in the office, but my Secret Santa has texted me out of office hours plenty of times.

I hide again and send another text.

Me:Are you going to ignore me to get me back now?

Again, I’m sure I hear that noise—a short burst ofzzz, then nothing. When I peer around the door, Asher isn’t checking his phone. I sigh and walk down the hallway.

My phone vibrates.

My Secret Santa:I’m cringing reading through these texts. I’m never typically this needy.

I rush back down the hallway, poke my head around the door, and come face-to-face with Asher. He smirks down at me. “Why are you sneaking around, Snowflake?”

“I’m not,” I say, noticing his hand is in his pocket.

“I’ll get changed, and then we’ll hit the road,” he says. “About last night …”

I shake my head. “Last night didn’t happen, remember?”

If I didn’t know any better, I would say he looks hurt, but if he is, he quickly hides it. “You’re right. Today, we’re just friends. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Not just today.” I hate that I have to say this. Things are so much easier over text. “Always. We must put whatever happened—or didn’t happen—behind us. Today is only about getting some cool footage and soaking in the Christmas vibes. Deal?”

He offers me his hand. “Deal, Snowflake.”

We shake hands. His touch makes my resolve feel weak already. I should probably tell him to stop calling me Snowflake. I like it too much, and I think he enjoys calling me it too much.

He walks down the hallway. About thirty seconds after his bedroom door closes, I get another text.

My Secret Santa:We should make a deal to keep our texts about Secret Santa. I think we can both agree this is getting out of hand.

I stare at the word “deal.” It seems like a sign. It’s like Asher is messing with me, which would annoy me if I didn’t like it so freaking much.

CHAPTER 14

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