Page 2 of Falling Like Snow

I arch an eyebrow at him as if to say, Oh really?

He smiles. “Fine. But if the rich New Yorkers don’t like you in flannel, then they don’t deserve you in a dress.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say, wheeling the heavy suitcase to the corner of my room. “Ugh, I wish you could go with us.”

“I do too. I’ve only been to the city once. And it was for a wedding, so I barely got to see anything outside of the church.” Asher stands and puts his hands in his hoodie pocket. “But I can’t leave when my parents are about to open the Bramble Inn. They might need my help. They’re overwhelmed.”

“I know. I get it.” I sigh. “I hate it, but I get it.”

Asher’s dad is a second-generation Japanese American who grew up in Southern California, while his mom, a petite white woman with brunette hair, was born and raised in Bramble Falls. The two met in college while majoring in hospitality management and got married young. They’ve always wanted to open their own bed-and-breakfast, but it wasn’t until recently that they decided to finally take a chance on their dream. Mrs. Yoshida quit her front-desk job at the hotel a town over and is now preparing the inn for its grand opening, while his dad is working overtime and traveling a lot, doing sales for a drinking-straw distribution company. They’re trying to bank as much money as possible before they’re both running the inn full time.

“You and Ellis will have fun taking a girls’ trip,” Asher says.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

He’s right, of course—my cousin and I will have a blast. And a trip to such a big city feels a lot less daunting going with a native New Yorker. I won’t have to worry about getting lost, or missing out on the best pizza and bagels, or finding the coolest attractions, or navigating the subway system. I basically have my own personal tour guide who will happily let me prance around the theater district in awe, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lin-Manuel Miranda or Jonathan Groff or Meg Donnelly or Jordan Fisher.

Still, I wish my best friend could be there with me.

“It’s been years since we’ve been apart longer than a weekend,” I tell him, the realization coming out whinier than intended.

“Huh. That’s true.” His brown eyes twinkle when he says, “No wonder I’m so sick of you.”

“Ha-ha.” I flick him in the side of the head.

“Jeez,” he says, batting my hand away. “You’re so violent.”

“And yet you love me.”

He frowns. “It’s wavering.”

“Liar,” I challenge, putting my hands on my hips.

He shoves my pillow into my chest until I grab it, then pulls the baby-blue comforter off my bed and wraps it around his shoulders like a cape. “Come on.” He heads toward my bedroom door. “Movie time.”

Mom has always said Nora Ephron wrote and directed some of the best films, and if Sleepless in Seattle is any indication, she’s absolutely correct. Curled up on the couch next to Asher, I pop a pink Starburst into my mouth as Annie and Sam discover each other at the top of the Empire State Building in a seriously swoony and tension-filled final seven minutes of the movie.

“Maybe I’ll meet the love of my life at the top of the Empire State Building while I’m in New York,” I muse.

The credits roll, and when Asher doesn’t respond, I turn to find him sorting through what’s left in our bowl of candy, setting all the pink Starbursts aside for me.

“How will you know he’s the love of your life?” he finally says. “Winter break is hardly enough time to fall in love.”

I shrug. “I imagine I’ll just know.”

“Ah, I see. So you’re banking on some love at first sight happening in NYC.”

“You don’t believe in it?”

“Not sure. I think maybe it takes time to know if it’s love. Otherwise it could just be attraction without the potential for more. Friendship just seems like a stronger foundation than instant infatuation, I guess.” Asher tosses a chocolate-covered raisin into his mouth and looks at me. “But what do I know? I’m still single. And if a romantic moment at the top of the Empire State Building is what you want, I’ll cross all my fingers and toes that you get one while you’re there.”

“Why, thank you,” I say, unwrapping another pink Starburst. “I hope this hypothetical Empire State Building guy loves me unconditionally, because I’m pretty sure my teeth are going to rot. Or fall out.”

“You live on Pop-Tarts, cookies, and candy, so yeah, probably both.”

“Hey, I ate a vegetable two weeks ago!”

“Pizza doesn’t count as a vegetable,” he argues.