Page 37 of Falling Like Snow

Asher turns back around to face me. “What shirts?”

Micah pulls one from a bag and holds it up—a white tee with a birch tree covered in red and green lights and ornaments and bold black lettering that reads BIRCH, PLEASE over the top of it.

Asher laughs. “Love it,” he says to me. “I didn’t realize you found someone to make them.”

“It was unexpected,” I tell him with a twinge of guilt for not remembering to mention it. “There are more, but I can show you another time if you need to leave.” I don’t want him to leave—it’s not like Micah is staying—but I also don’t want to make him feel like he has to stay if he actually was planning to leave before Micah arrived.

“Sure. Have a good night.”

“Thanks for the soup,” I say. “See you tomorrow?”

“Naturally.”

He glances at Micah as he passes him but says nothing. After fumbling with his boots, he leaves, shutting the front door behind him.

Silence falls over the house as I’m left alone with the gorgeous, tall hockey player.

“You didn’t need to come over. I could have grabbed them at school,” I finally say.

Micah picks up some of the bags and carries them into the living room.

“I brought them to school today, but you weren’t there. So I figured I’d drop them off since I wasn’t doing anything else,” he says, sitting on the other end of the couch, where Asher was.

“How’d you know I wasn’t there? We don’t have any classes together, and you didn’t text me.”

He blinks, the slightest blush painting his cheeks. “I might have asked around.”

“I see…”

“I did have shirts to give you,” he adds quickly.

“Right, of course,” I say with a smirk, pretending to be all confident while I sit here with unwashed hair, a runny red nose, and the same clothes I’ve been wearing since Tuesday.

“Don’t get a big head, Sloane Sullivan,” he says, pulling a few shirts from the bags.

He shows me each of them, and I couldn’t be more delighted with how they turned out.

“You like them?” he asks with a laugh after I snatch one from him and let out a nasally screech.

“I love them! They might be my whole wardrobe for the rest of the month.”

“Weren’t you planning on selling them at the market?” he asks.

“I was, but now I want them all for myself.” I put the MEOW-RY CHRISTMAS tee on over my sweatshirt. “How do I look?”

He assesses me. “Sickly, to be honest.”

“You do seem to have a knack for honesty,” I laugh.

He grins and runs his palms over his thighs. “So, uh, I have a hockey game tomorrow night.”

I nod slowly. “Okay? Cool?”

“I was thinking…” He trails off.

“About?”

“You should come.”