Page 60 of Falling Like Snow

Her smile falls. “Will this plan of yours make us money or are we going to be in the red?”

“Hard to say at the moment. Just focus on the location first.”

“Got it.” Mom dashes to the kitchen with her phone.

I trudge upstairs, splash some water on my face, use the bathroom, and brush my teeth. Then I call Asher. Because even if things between us are weird and strained, I know he’ll help me.

“Sloane?” he says, answering the phone with a gravelly voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Why are you assuming something’s wrong?”

“Because it’s way too early for you to be awake on a Sunday,” he says, yawning. “And because you don’t call people. Even when there’s an emergency, I usually get a 911 text.”

“True. But a text wouldn’t have woken you up, and I don’t have the luxury of time, so here we are.”

“Okay…” His blanket rustles as he shifts, and my mind wanders to him shirtless in bed the other night, with sleepy eyes, a raspy, tired voice, and pillow marks etched into his face. My cheeks heat. Clearly I’m still suffering the consequences of crashing into Micah a week and a half ago. “What’s up?”

“Mom’s panicking. She and Cooper’s mom decided to cancel the snowman-making contest—”

“But your mom hates canceling stuff.”

“Exactly. So I came up with a plan B,” I tell him.

“For today?”

“Yes, hence the phone call.”

“All right. What do you need?” he asks.

“Come over, and I’ll explain everything,” I say. “And by everything, I mean what little I’ve actually figured out.”

“Give me twenty minutes.”

“You have fifteen. Bye!” I hang up before he has a chance to respond, and I get dressed for the long day ahead.

Asher insists on going to the candy shop and the market by himself while I scout the location for today’s event with Mom.

The Grants own the Bloom Box, which they source from their very own flower farm. And on that farm sits a giant heated barn made of weathered wood, where both local and destination weddings are held year-round.

“This was genius,” Mom says as we step into the grand but rustic space. We gape at the icicle lights hanging from where the walls meet the high, open ceiling and dangle between the exposed wooden beams wrapped in evergreen garland. Strung from the rafters, white glitter-covered snowflakes sparkle as the lights reflect off them. Giant, elaborately decorated hemlock trees stand in each of the four corners of the barn, and red velvet bows of all sizes add pops of holiday color. “It’s stunning in here. We don’t have to spend any time decorating.”

“Exactly.” I put my hands on my hips and survey the empty floor. “But we do need to set up tables and chairs.”

“Lots of them.”

We head out to the shed, where Helen Grant told us they keep their event furniture, and start lugging what we need to the barn. At ten o’clock, I send a 911 text to the group chat, figuring most of them are probably awake by now, and delegate jobs, including getting word out about the time and location change—and that the snowman-building contest will now be a gingerbread-house-making contest. Ellis takes on making flyers and distributing them across town, I update the Bramble Falls website while Fern makes a video to post in case anyone coming was relying on her account for information, Chloe and Hannah show up and help Mom with setting up the tables and chairs, and Preeti activates the Bramble Falls phone tree to make sure everyone knows about the changes and to confirm we still have our volunteers for the day, which is how Parker and Sterling find out about the event and show up to help.

“Where’s Cooper?” I ask. “He hasn’t responded. I expect that from Jake, but not Coop.”

“He had to work,” Ellis says quickly.

I shake my head. “Such a workhorse.”

Ellis smiles, still looking at her computer. “So are you. You just don’t get paid.”

“You’re right. I should look into child-labor laws.”

“I bought your car, and I pay for your car insurance and phone!” Mom calls, her Mom ears somehow hearing us from across the barn.