Page 120 of Falling Like Snow

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. Okay. Fine.”

As he turns back toward the door, the realization slams into me that this might actually be the end of our friendship, whether I tell him or not.

“I’m scared,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

He freezes. Then, slowly, he turns around, training his brown eyes on mine. “Of what?”

“Of everything,” I say, throwing my arms in the air, my overzealous tear ducts once again leaking. “Of telling you that I think you’re the most perfect person in the entire world. Of saying that you are everything I never knew I wanted. Of telling you that I’ve been an absolute idiot for not seeing it sooner.” His eyes are a study in contrast, his gaze somehow both soft and intense. “I’m terrified to tell you that the mistletoe kiss wasn’t nothing for me and that I think about it every single day. I want to kiss you again, and that scares me shitless. And when I’m forced to move out of the country or fling myself into the sea after saying all of this, I’m not sure I’ll ever meet anyone who measures up to you—and that’s also really scary. Because I’m afraid I’m so deeply in love with you that I will never be able to get over you, no matter how many times I try to convince myself I can.” My whole body is trembling, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the cold or the adrenaline or the fear. I take a deep, shaky breath. “But mostly I’m terrified that this will be the end of our friendship.”

Asher stands unmoving, his face unreadable, as he seems to process everything.

Then he walks right past me and heads for the driveway.

“Where are you going?” I ask, wiping the tears from my face.

“Come.”

I follow him until we reach his car. He opens the back-seat door. “Get in, you’re freezing. I don’t have my keys to turn on the heat, but at least it won’t be windy.”

Not waiting for me to object, he walks to the driver’s seat and pops the trunk. I’m confused and scared, but I’m also exhausted. So, accepting whatever our fate is, I climb into the back seat. A second later he gets in the other side with the duffel bag from the water tower.

“What’s that?” I ask, my raspy voice cutting through the silence in the car.

“I never got to give you your Christmas present.” He unzips the bag and pulls out a package wrapped in white paper with pink and red mittens printed on it. He hands it to me. “Open it.”

I take it from him. “I thought the New York City stuff was my Christmas present. It was more than enough.”

“Part of it, I guess.”

My eyes scan the present. “Sooo… we’re going to pretend I didn’t say all of that? Because I’m totally okay with that. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Open the present,” he says.

I nod, assuming that means pretending is the plan, and gently tear the pretty paper, revealing a scrapbook. Asher balls up the paper while I take in the light pink cloth cover with mini white pom-poms glued to it like falling snowflakes. In the center there’s a photo of Asher and me at the carnival last summer, framed with red lace. I run my fingers over the title written in white puffy paint: These Are a Few of My Favorite Things (About You)—a riff on my favorite Christmas song.

Asher taps on the interior car light so I can see better, and I flip the book open to find that each page is filled with photos of us… and a list that makes my heart pinch.

The way you wear every thought and feeling on your face paired with photos of me wearing the most animated expressions—or staring at him like my world revolves around him.

The chaotic energy you bring to my life paired with pictures of us participating in Bramble Falls events over the years—dancing, falling, laughing, screaming—and unfiltered pictures of me dressed in the most ridiculous outfits as we sit around our houses.

How no other shade of blue in existence can compete with the blue of your eyes paired with pictures of us where my eyes practically glow. Asher taking the photo is reflected in them in the center one.

The way you can make me laugh until my stomach hurts.

The light dusting of freckles that’s only noticeable when I’m inches from your face.

Your untamable bangs that seem to have a mind of their own.

Your breathtaking smile.

How giddy winter makes you.

How selfless you are.

That you consider yourself limited edition (and it’s true).

How petty you can be.