Page 93 of Falling Like Snow

“I give you Times Square… Bramble Falls Edition,” he says, almost shyly.

I throw my hand over my mouth as all my friends gather around, having followed us, now doing their performances again. Slack-jawed and full of absolute glee, I turn back to Asher.

“This one took a while because I had to convince everyone to participate,” he says. “And you know Grumpy Gary who lives above the pet shop didn’t want anything to do with it.”

I laugh as I glance at Gary’s place, where there is no TV in the window.

“He refused to join the fun but agreed to turn off his lights, so I considered it a win.” He pulls his beanie off and runs his hand through his hair, leaving it the messy mop that I love so much. “Sorry it isn’t the best replica. I couldn’t convince a crowd to fill the place, but I tried to at least get a bunch of bright screens…”

“Are you kidding?” I say, beaming as I take in all the TVs. I throw my arms around him, hard enough that he grunts. “This is incredible. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says into my hair. I squeeze him tighter, making him laugh. “I can’t breathe, and if I can’t breathe, I can’t show you the next thing.”

I let go of him and rear back. “There’s more?”

“There is,” he says, smiling. He takes my hand and drags me down the gazebo steps. “Come on.”

We head down Learned Owl Lane until we reach the old theater, where the marquee is lit up and a line of tourists stretches down the sidewalk.

“Welcome to Broadway,” Asher says, posing with his arms up like he’s presenting the community theater to me. “Or at least, you know, off Broadway…”

“The sign says they’re putting on Wicked, but that ended in November,” I point out.

“It did, but you didn’t get to go because of the Falling Leaves Festival being extended. So I mentioned the possibility of an encore to your mom, and she was thrilled with the idea as long as it was after a Falling Snow event—that way it’d give the visitors something to do in the evening. And the cast was thrilled to do it again, especially for outsiders.”

“But I haven’t seen it advertised at all,” I tell him. “How did these people know this was happening when I didn’t even know this was happening?”

“Spreading the word was a covert operation,” he says with an adorable sly grin. After making me take a selfie with him in front of the marquee, he pulls me to the end of the line. “Now, let’s go watch a musical.”

Over the next couple of hours, I try to stay focused on the subpar performances. But my eyes keep wandering—to Asher’s hands, wishing he’d reach over and hold mine; to his mouth, wishing he wanted to kiss me again.

And as I drift off to sleep later that night, my brain screams at my heart to get a grip.

Micah: you home yet?

Micah: ooooook i guess im going to bed

Micah:… one last attempt. call me?

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Bramble Inn is an old white manor within walking distance of downtown Bramble Falls. The historic landmark was once the home of the town’s founders, but it sat unoccupied for decades until the Yoshidas acquired it. Tonight the giant white pillars in front are adorned with Christmas lights, and large green wreaths with red bows hang on the many windows, lights lining their cream shutters.

I follow a cobblestone path to the backyard, where the snow-covered gardens are filled with holly and poinsettias and draped in evergreen garlands. Music from The Nutcracker plays softly, and the flames from the dozens of candles sitting upon every surface seem to dance to the tune. The otherwise-bare branches of the surrounding bushes and trees are covered in sparkling Christmas lights.

I’m selling candles tonight, so after I’ve gotten the money box from Mom, I find my booth and set up. The event has barely started, and people are already swarming the gardens, drinking coffee and chatting in hushed tones, as if being quiet is some unwritten winter-solstice rule.

The calm is nice.

“Hey, how does this work?” Ellis asks, appearing in front of my table as I’m people-watching. “What are the candles for?”

“So the winter solstice is all about renewal and light,” I explain, holding up one of the wax sticks. “If you think of an intention or hope for the upcoming year as you light a candle, it’s supposed to help you follow through.”

“Hmm, okay. I’ll take two.” I hand Ellis her candles, and after collecting her money, I watch as she sits next to Cooper on a concrete bench. She smiles and says something and he kisses her forehead.

Everywhere around me, couples are holding hands, exchanging looks that say a thousand private words, setting intentions for their futures together.

My stupid heart aches for that.