Page 50 of Falling Like Snow

He watches me with questioning eyes before he turns and climbs back under his blanket, propping himself up against his headboard. “What are you doing here?” he asks again, scrubbing his hand down his tired face. His eyes drift to my—Micah’s—hoodie. “Thought you were hanging with the hockey team.”

I swear his jaw tenses. He is mad at me.

I mosey over to the bed. “I was.”

He scooches over as I slide in next to him. “So, why are you here now? What happened?”

“I felt bad for bailing on you.”

“I see… so this is some sort of pity hangout? Because I gotta tell you, I don’t need it. There’s nothing to feel bad about. And I was dead asleep. I’m too tired for a midnight rendezvous.”

He lies down, burrowing into his blanket.

“Stop. It’s not a pity hangout,” I tell him, sliding down the mattress and shifting onto my side until I’m lying next to him under the covers. I pull the blanket up and tuck it under my chin. “I shouldn’t have canceled on you. It was mean, and I spent all night feeling guilty about it.”

“So guilty that you had to wake me up?”

“Yes. I hate you being upset with me.”

“I told you to have fun. What about that made you think I was upset with you?” he asks.

“Vibes?”

He grins, and my god, he has such a pretty smile. When we were kids, we’d exchange wallet-sized school photos, and I always found myself admiring that smile. The perfect slant of his full lips. “Vibes, huh? It was a four-word text. And again, it literally said have fun.”

“Call it best-friend telepathy.”

“Right. Well, yours might need a repair. I’m fine.”

I poke my hand out of the top of the blanket and hold out my pinkie between us. “Promise?”

His hand emerges from beneath the comforter, and warmth floods me as he wraps his little finger around mine. “Promise.”

I bite my lip, hesitating to ask my next question.

“What?” he says.

My gaze falls to our linked hands. “Why did you lie to me?”

“What are you talking about?”

I meet his confused brown eyes. “About tutoring tonight.”

His body stills, his muscles stiffening. “Why… what makes you say that?”

“Daphne was at the hockey game,” I say. “You might want a better alibi next time.”

“Sloane, it’s not—”

“You could have just said you didn’t want to go,” I continue. “You say things aren’t changing, but we’ve never lied to each other.”

He exhales. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have lied. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” He squeezes my pinkie. “I promise.”

“Okay.”

The corners of his lips twitch as he tries not to smile. “That’s the real reason you’re here. You didn’t feel bad for bailing on me. You just didn’t like that I lied to you.”

“Both things can be true.”