Page 84 of Falling Like Snow
Maybe it’s because of the turbulence between Asher and me, but as I pull on my burgundy wool-cashmere cable leggings, I’m having a hard time being excited about hanging out with Micah. I take out my phone and text Hannah, You sure you can’t come tonight?
Hanns: And be a fifth wheel? Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Get it, girl.
Hanns: And send me the deets, obvs.
Me: I hate you.
It’s not that I’m dreading tonight, although I’m not looking forward to watching Asher and Daphne together because I apparently suck at sharing my best friend. It’s just that I’d rather be spending my Friday night how I did before Micah was in the picture—watching a movie with Asher, eating snacks, and defending our Team Logan versus Team Jess stances.
Once the pale winter moon has replaced the sun, I throw my coat on over my black cropped sweater, slip into my black boots, and head to the Show in the Snow, where Mom has spent the day setting up with volunteers.
Covered in a blanket of white, downtown Bramble Falls is magical. Christmas lights spiral up every tree trunk and engulf the branches, making the trees glimmer. The Grants donated hundreds of poinsettias for this weekend’s events, and volunteers have potted them and wrapped them in gold ribbons and attached them to wreaths hanging from the gazebo. The business signs surrounding the square are lined with Christmas lights, and tea candles fill their windows, leaving the snow-clad sidewalks sparkling. Pre-lit evergreen garlands dotted with red bows and oversized red and gold bulbs droop lazily between lampposts wrapped in red and white ropes of tinsel so they look like candy canes.
On the far end of the lawn, a projector sits on a library cart cloaked in wrapping paper and topped with a big green gift bow, making the rectangular stand look like a giant present, its white light projecting onto a DIY screen made of large white foam insulation boards nailed to a base that Forrest, the town handyman, constructed out of two-by-fours. People file into the neat, staggered rows of folding chairs in front of it.
A bonfire blazes near the center of the lawn, and like a magnet, my eyes are drawn to Asher standing in front of it, flames accentuating the angles of his face as he grins at something Daphne is saying. As if he can sense me watching him, his gaze flits to mine. My smile is involuntary. I wave to him as I approach, and he lifts his chin at me. As if that’s how we typically acknowledge each other, like I’m his bro. I nearly stumble into the fire as he turns back to Daphne.
“Hey,” someone to Asher’s left says, pulling my attention from the brush-off. Micah’s dazzling smile offers a much kinder, more enthusiastic greeting. “You look”—his big green eyes travel over my hair and face, and I grin—“different.”
My smile falls. “Oh. Thanks? Or, sorry. I’m not sure how to respond to that.”
“No,” he says quickly. “Good different. You look pretty.”
“But I don’t usually?” I say, mostly messing with him as I arch an eyebrow.
“What? No, of course not,” he says, shaking his head. “I mean, of course you always look pretty. Sorry, I’m not usually so bad with compliments.”
“I’m so pretty I have you frazzled?” I joke.
“Something like that.” The glint in his eye and sweetness of his smile make me believe him.
I blush, but I’m still distracted by Asher barely acknowledging me.
Across the fire, some friends from choir start quietly singing “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” their harmonies floating through the air with the embers and giving me chills as I’m once again reminded why I love winter so much.
“How’d finals go?” Micah asks me. “That snow day made today rough, having an exam every period.”
“It was better than I thought it was going to be,” I say.
“You have any plans over winter break?” he asks.
“Nope. Just helping my mom with festival stuff,” I tell him, refusing to think about the fact that I should be leaving for New York City in the morning. “What about you?”
“Nah. Sleep, hang out with the guys. Maybe go to a Falling Snow Festival event or two so I have an excuse to see you.” He shrugs. “No real plans.”
I laugh. “Wow.”
“What?” he asks, his lips pulling into a smile.
“Do lines like that usually work on girls?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t have lines,” he says. His grin widens. “But is it working on you?”
I turn toward the fire and warm my frozen fingers. “Hmmm… haven’t decided yet.”
“Oh?” he says, stepping behind me and putting his hands on my hips and lowering his mouth to my ear, “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”
I try to relax, even though the feel of his hands on me is sending me right back to Wednesday night with Asher. But I need to snap out of it, so I turn my head so our faces are inches apart. “Guess so.”
