Page 87 of Falling Like Snow

The implication of what going to his house would mean makes my stomach do flips. But I’m not sure if they’re good flips or nausea-inducing flips. Maybe that’s just what nerves feel like when Micah freaking Cook wants to make out with you.

“It was a long day of finals. I’m pretty tired. Maybe tomorrow after the holiday market?” I suggest.

“Sure,” he says, looking hopeful. “Tomorrow night it is. You sure you don’t want a ride home?”

“No, I’m fine, but thanks.”

“You don’t have to stay and help clean up?” Asher asks.

“No. Mom and Forrest are taking care of any trash at the end of the night, but we’re going to do the rest tomorrow when it’s a little warmer since we have to be here to set up for the holiday market anyway.”

“Gotcha,” he says.

“All right, well, see ya,” I say to him; then I tell Daphne bye.

“Night, Sloane,” she says warmly.

I take a step backward. “Good night, Micah.”

“Tomorrow,” he says.

My breath makes puffy clouds in the cold air as I stroll down the barely shoveled sidewalk on my way home. I’m passing the Bloom Box when footsteps approach from behind me.

“Hey.”

I turn to find Asher jogging to catch up with me—without Daphne. “Hey.”

“I’ll walk you home,” he says.

“Don’t you have to take Daph home?” I ask.

“She said she’d catch a ride with Parker.”

I nod, unsure what to say.

We walk in silence for a while before I finally fracture the mounting tension.

“Are you… are we… good?” I stammer. “Or are things between us, um, weird, or—”

“We’re good,” he says quickly.

“Okay. It’s just… you left really early the other morning, and you’ve barely talked to me—”

“It’s not because of… that,” he says, clearly not wanting to talk about The Kiss.

“But it’s something?”

He sighs. “My dad texted that morning.” He hesitates to continue, but I wait for him without pushing. Finally, he does. “He wanted to tell me that he isn’t coming home for Christmas. He’s been working so hard to bank enough for the inn’s first few years, since new businesses notoriously lose money or go bankrupt. So I get it, I do. But it sucks. I mean, he does all the Japanese traditions at Christmastime.”

“Like baking your favorite Christmas cake,” I say quietly.

“Yes! Exactly. And hanging all the paper lanterns.” Asher shakes his head. “I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not like I’m super into my heritage or anything, but it’s what makes Christmas… Christmas.”

“I know.”

“I know you know,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything about it.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What do you mean?”