Page 89 of Falling Like Snow

“Okay.” He plunges his hands back into his coat pockets and turns in the direction of downtown. “Good night.”

Upstairs, I wipe off my makeup, brush my teeth, and change into pajamas. Then I stare at the giant crack in my ceiling as I lie in bed, replaying and picking apart every look, every word, every touch that Asher and I have shared recently, unable to convince myself that these new feelings for my best friend don’t exist—no matter how much I wish they didn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The holiday market is teeming with shoppers the next afternoon. The bustling crowd hops from tent to tent checking out the handmade crafts and homemade treats, their arms overflowing with bags full of one-of-a-kind purchases. The scents of scones and peppermint fill the air, and Christmas music pumps through the speakers in the gazebo, where Mr. Marley is dressed as Santa, the rented suit a bit tighter on him this year. Mom, Amanda, and Aunt Annie are all dressed as elves as they walk around making sure everything is running smoothly.

Standing at my booth with the T-shirts Micah made me, surrounded by lively chatter and wide grins, it’s impossible to feel anything but cheerful. This is easily the jolliest event we’ve had, and it makes my holiday-loving heart feel like it’s going to explode.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a voice says to my left. I turn to find Asher wearing a dopey smile, clearly as affected by the merriment as I am. “How much is that ‘I’m a Lost Claus’ shirt?”

“Too much for you to afford, but you may have the friends-and-family discount,” I tell him.

“All right. How much will it cost me with the discount?”

I grab the shirt off the display stand behind me. “It’s the five-finger discount, so zero buckaroos.”

Asher frowns. “Sloane, let me pay you for the shirt.”

“No,” I say, handing it to him.

“You’re impossible.” He places the two cups he’s holding on the table and takes the shirt from me with a sigh. Sliding it on over his thick sweatshirt, he says, “I brought gingerbread eggnog or peppermint hot chocolate. Pick one.”

I glance at the cups, then back to him. “You bought them. Which one do you want? I’ll take the other.”

“You. Pick.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

I glare at him. “You’re impossible,” I say, grabbing the cup without the candy cane sticking out of the hole in the lid because I know how much Asher loves peppermint hot chocolate.

The eggnog is thick and a little spicy when I take a sip. Although I usually love eggnog, this is… not great.

Asher snatches it out of my hand.

“What the—”

“You don’t like it,” he says, cutting me off. Then he hands me the other cup. “Here.”

“The eggnog was delicious.”

“You are a terrible liar,” he says.

“I hate hot chocolate,” I say.

He stares at me.

I huff. “God, you are infuriating.”

“So are you,” he says.

My eyes dip to his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile. Knowing how soft and smooth they are, I’m dying to run my thumb over them.

Weirdo, I think, bringing my gaze back to his darkening eyes, as if he can read my thoughts.

“Well, look at those beauties,” Micah’s voice rings out from in front of the booth.

I twirl around to find him checking out the shirts.

“Hey,” I say quickly, for some reason flustered.