Page 8 of Falling Like Snow

“And, Ash, since the Bramble Inn is opening soon, maybe we could spotlight that somehow,” I say. “Do you think your parents would be willing to host a winter-solstice gathering there?”

“I’ll ask, but I’m sure they’d love that.”

Everyone offers their ideas until we have a solid list of possibilities, including a snowman-making contest, a holiday movie night in the square, a night of stargazing, and a winter-solstice celebration. Tomorrow, the tourism board will present their ideas, and everyone will vote on which ones to move forward with. Then Mom will schedule them.

After that, let the planning chaos begin.

Once we’ve all eaten, I thank everyone for coming and the group disassembles, leaving me sitting alone at our table. I let out a breath and try to shake off the swell of unwelcome feelings brewing inside me.

As the mayor’s daughter, I’m responsible for representing Bramble Falls with a smile. And that’s okay, because as a perpetual optimist, I prefer to bury the bad stuff anyway.

But, god, I was really looking forward to New York City.

“You planning on spending the night here?” Asher says, having come back inside. “I can bring you a sleeping bag if you want.” I force a smile, and he sits in the chair beside me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just overwhelmed,” I tell him.

His voice is soft when he says, “Maybe you can still go.”

We haven’t even talked about what this festival means for my trip. But leave it to Asher to just know.

I shake my head. “I think that’s called toxic positivity.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Whatever, it’s fine. This will be fun,” I say, trying to make myself believe it.

“But that isn’t toxic positivity?”

“No, it’s finding the silver lining,” I tell him.

Asher frowns. “You know you don’t have to pretend with me.”

I blink back the tears pricking at my eyes, because there’s never been a truer statement. Asher is my safe space, where I can be myself and not have to feel guilty or selfish for complaining about how Bramble Falls’s success affects me.

“I wanted to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center,” I say quietly.

“I know.”

“And see the Statue of Liberty and Times Square and the Empire State Building and Central Park and freaking Broadway.”

He grabs my hand. “I know.”

“And watch the street performers.”

He grins. “I actually didn’t know that.”

“And eat dinner outside in one of those cute igloos.”

“And now I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And, like, I know we can go some other time,” I continue, “but holiday time in New York City? It’s probably beautiful.” I sigh. “I just really wanted—needed—to go, you know? I love this town, and I love helping out. But…”

“But it’s becoming your whole life just like it’s become your mom’s,” he finishes.

“Exactly.”

“And it would have been an escape.”