Page 15 of Falling Like Snow

I reseal the bag of trail mix and dig the pens and strips of paper out of my pocket. Asher takes his and turns away from me as he writes down what he most hopes for, and I jot down my own impossible wish—the one I’ve already given up on.

December in NYC.

Like Mom said, it is the season for miracles.

I twist off the top of the ornament, roll the paper into a miniature scroll, and shove it inside, then put the top back on. Engulfed in the dark, I hang the bulb on a lower branch while Asher hangs his as high as he can reach. Mom comes forward with her megaphone, and we fall back into the crowd.

“Final call for any Winter Wish bulbs!” she announces. A couple of stragglers run forward, and Mom continues into the megaphone, “All right. Without further ado, let’s welcome the winter season with the lighting of the Bramble Falls tree!” she shouts. “And may all your wishes come true!”

Everyone joins her in counting down from three. “… two… one…”

With resounding gasps from the crowd, the tree comes to life. Jewel-colored lights ricochet off the glittery ornaments and the wet streets, casting a soft glow over the town square, making it look like one of Ellis’s mom’s paintings. The gold star on top sparkles against the backdrop of the inky sky. At the sight of it all, the fuzziest feeling warms my insides, just like it does every year. This is why winter is the best season.

Asher bumps my shoulder, and I turn to face him with warmth in my belly and a smile I can’t contain. “It’s so pretty!” I say, not caring if I sound like a five-year-old.

The lights reflect in his dark eyes, and he smiles back at me. “Yeah, it is.”

A white flake suddenly lands in Asher’s hair. My eyes dart around and find the lightest flurry of snow slowly falling before it hits the ground and melts. My jaw drops, and my gaze snaps to Asher’s.

“It’s snowing,” he says in disbelief.

“I told you it was coming!” I squeal.

“That was three days ago. It could have held off until February, and you still would have said you told me so,” he says. “You never specified when it was going to snow.”

“I think what you mean to say is”—I press my thumb to the indentation between his chin and his mouth, using it to move his bottom lip, and I imitate his deeper voice—“ ‘You are Lorelai Gilmore, Smeller of Snow and All-Knowing Goddess of Winter, and you are amazing and impressive.’ ”

He smiles and shoves my hand away. “You are not Lorelai Gilmore. But I never said you weren’t amazing or impressive.”

“Hmm. You never said I was, either.”

He laughs. “Ah, my mistake. You are both amazing and impressive.”

“What is this gross music?” Jake asks, coming out of nowhere and throwing his arm over my shoulder.

I turn and face the blond-haired beauty with his rosy cheeks and puffy blue coat. His little sister, Ryleigh, an eighth grader at Bramble Falls Middle School, stands next to him wearing a cute black peacoat, her blond hair mostly hidden beneath a light pink knitted cap with a pom-pom on top. She’s holding a clear umbrella over her head, looking like she’d rather be anywhere but with her brother.

“Everyone knows this is Josh Groban,” I tell Jake. “This version of ‘O Holy Night’ is a classic.”

“Well, I didn’t know, and I would have preferred to never find out,” he says. “Classic or not, this is nauseating. I need to go tell whoever’s in charge of the playlist to put on Taylor’s ‘Christmas Tree Farm.’ Now, that is a classic.”

“You do that, Jakey,” I say, using Ellis’s nickname for the dope. “I’m sure they’re taking requests.”

Jake scampers off toward the hardware store, where the speakers are set up under the awning.

“Your mom making you stay with Jake tonight?” I ask Ryleigh.

“Yep. She lets him believe he’s keeping an eye on me, but everyone else knows the truth.”

I laugh. “We sure do.”

“Well, I guess I better get going,” she says before plodding after the energetic puppy that is her older sibling.

I turn to find Asher holding his phone.

“Annual tree-lighting photo?” he says.

“Of course.”