Page 64 of Falling Like Snow

He steps toward me so there’s mere inches between us. “Stop looking like that.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know I can’t stand your sad eyes,” he says.

“Then don’t look at them,” I tell him, my voice hard. Between the unexpected, unnerving feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of someone making him smile at his phone like that and the fact that he’s keeping it a secret, I’m suddenly angry. Again.

He studies me—taking in my stony stare—then retreats a step.

“I better grab the candy,” I say, brushing past him.

“Are we seriously fighting about this again?” he asks. “I thought you were done being mad.”

“We’re fine. Everything is just peachy,” I tell him with a toothy, fake smile. “But my mom’s waiting, so I need to go.”

Neither of us says anything while I collect what I came for and head back downstairs.

Twenty minutes later I’m running around, making sure everyone has what they need, when I spot Daphne across the room. She puts her coat on the back of a chair, revealing a cute pleated black skirt, black ankle boots, and a red sweater. She sneaks up behind Asher and puts her hands over his eyes. He turns around and grins as she drops her arms. Her face is animated as she says something to him.

Why haven’t I been training to read lips, damn it?

I avert my eyes as they approach.

“Hey, Sloane. Asher and I want to enter the contest as a team,” Daphne says.

“Oh.” I glance at Asher, who avoids looking at me. “Okay.” I grab the clipboard from a couple tables away. “Team name?”

Daphne turns to him. “I didn’t realize we needed one. How about… Holiday Hustlers?”

“Sure,” Asher says.

I want to scream at him not to go spend the rest of the afternoon with her. Not to smile at her. To stay and fix things between us. To hang out with me instead.

But he has secrets he doesn’t want to tell me, and it’s not like I can ask him to be on my nonexistent team, anyway. Because, as usual, I’m stuck helping.

So I plaster on my Hospitality Smile again and jot the name down. “Perfect! Good luck!”

“Thanks, but we don’t need luck. We’ve got this!” Daphne says, elbowing Asher gently.

He grins at her. “Yep.”

“You can have the last free table.” I nod at the empty table with supplies sitting in the center. “Enjoy.”

My smile falls as he walks away with her. I can’t stand here and watch them, especially when my feelings lately have been like a knotted ball of Christmas lights—tangled and messy and annoying. So instead I walk around and gather trash and help move finished houses to the judging table.

By the time I catch myself looking in their direction, they’re gone.

My eyes dart around the room, then to the loft. Are they up there together? Does it matter if they are? Who cares where they might be or what they might be doing? We’re friends, and Daphne—

“Whoa, there,” Ellis says, coming up behind me. “Why are you trying to sabotage”—she reads the name tag on the gingerbread house I apparently just slammed on the table—“the Hamlins?”

“Have you seen Asher?” I ask, ignoring her question.

“Um, yeah… he and Daphne bailed on their gingerbread house and left together a few minutes ago. He said everything here was winding down, so we should be good without him.” A crease forms between her brows. “We are good, aren’t we?”

He left. With her. And didn’t even say bye.

I fight a sudden wave of nausea and meet my cousin’s concerned eyes. “Do you think there’s something going on between them?”