Page 27 of Falling Like Snow

Kicking myself for letting him throw me off so easily, I wash my hands in the back of the kitchen, letting the cool water wash over my red skin longer than necessary. When I finally make my way back, Micah is flashing his handsome crooked grin at Scarlett Silverman, an elderly lady with deep wrinkles and gray hair who takes Zumba classes at the senior center. He gives her a bowl of soup, and she places her hand on his, announcing that she’ll be back soon for seconds.

As she scampers away in her eighties workout leotard, I can’t stop the laugh that tumbles out of me.

He turns to find me there. “What’s so funny?”

“You. Flirting your way into the old ladies’ good graces. Trying to make them like you more than they like me.”

“Maybe I just have a thing for old ladies—especially ones in tight clothes.”

I tap my finger on my chin and pretend to study him for a moment. “Yeah, I can see that about you.”

He laughs. “Damn it. I’d like to go along with this bit, but I just can’t.” He cringes, making me cackle as I take the ladle from him and scoop the last two bowls.

Once everyone’s eating at tables and there’s a lull in the line, I glance at Micah because his penetrating gaze is burning a hole in the side of my face.

“What are you looking at?” I ask, catching him leaning on the counter, sure enough staring at me.

“A spunky blonde,” he answers plainly.

I try to push down the heat crawling up my neck. “Why?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?” I ask, not sure I actually want to know.

“Why have we never talked before?” he asks.

“Um, because we don’t hang out with the same people? We’re never in the same spaces.”

“Right. I’m in hockey spaces hanging out with jocks while you’re in theater spaces hanging out with…”

“Losers? Nerds?”

“Definitely not what I was going to say,” he says defensively.

“Oh really? Then what exactly was on the tip of your tongue?”

“Artistic people. Talented people?” he answers.

I bite back a smile. “Mm-hmm…”

“It’s interesting that you don’t know me but you apparently think the worst of me.” He folds his arms over his chest, somehow seeming even bigger as he straightens. “Why is that?”

Guilt snakes its way through me because he’s not wrong. Asher and Hannah put it in my head that he must be an asshole, and I just went along with it. “Fair enough. I guess you are here volunteering.”

This time he blushes. “Only because my mom made me, so I can put it on my college applications next year.”

“You know you didn’t have to tell me that,” I say with a laugh. “You could have just let me believe you were doing it out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Was trying to be honest, but, yeah, maybe I should have,” he says with a sheepish grin.

I tear my eyes away because, honestly, what right does he have to be so good-looking? I wonder what it feels like to make girls lose their cool by simply existing.

“So, Sloane Sullivan,” Micah says, “what are you doing later?”

My gaze cuts to him. Is he just making conversation? Or is he going to ask me to hang out? Why can’t I read these situations?

Trying to steady my pulse and be casual, I shrug. “Showering. Probably watching a movie. Oh, and researching how to get T-shirts made.”