Page 23 of Falling Like Snow

I turn to him, grateful for the intentional change in topic. “Ube cheesecake.”

He pauses, staring at it. “What the hell is ube?”

“I… have no idea,” I admit. Cooper has low-key started his own cookie business while still selling his baked goods at the Caffeinated Cat, where he works part-time. I’ve literally never eaten anything better than a single one of his cookies—even his failed experiments. I take a bite of the ube cheesecake cookie and moan. “Oh my god. See, this is why I question nothing. I trust Cooper. Whatever ube is, I’ll bathe in it. I’ll eat it topped with toe jam. You guys can bury me in it when I die. I don’t even care.”

Hannah laughs, and Asher shakes his head at me.

“Anyone want a drink?” I ask.

“Yes, please!” Hannah says as I bite into my cookie.

“Sure,” Asher replies, taking the bag from Hannah to see what else we’ve brought.

“Okay, be right back!”

Walking through the crowd, I note that everyone seems to be having a good time, most people talking and laughing with friends, some dancing in front of the stage—if you can call jumping around, moshing, and head-banging dancing, that is. The donation bowls are overflowing with cash—and that doesn’t include the online donations. Mom will be happy.

I’m about to shovel the last piece of cookie into my mouth when one of the “dancers” rams into me from behind, sending me flying into a group of people to my left and dislodging my cookie from my hand. I’m nearly on the shiny hardwood floor when a strong arm catches me around the waist and pulls me up.

“Are you okay?” he asks, lifting me with ease. My eyes dart up at the sound of the familiar voice. Micah grins, registering who he saved from face-planting. “You again.”

“You again.”

He lets go of me, and I take in his perfectly fitted jeans and orange hoodie before my eyes return to his face. His expression turns serious but his green eyes flicker with mischief. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to kill me.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “If I were trying to kill you, you’d be dead.”

I press my lips together. Where the hell did that come from?

Clearly I have no idea how to be a normal person. How to talk to hot guys.

Micah barks out a surprised laugh at my snappy retort. “Noted.”

I nod, having no idea what to say. “Okay, then.” Instead of letting any more ridiculous comments escape my unfiltered brain, I charge toward one of the drink tables.

“Sloane Sullivan,” Micah calls from behind me a couple of seconds later. I reluctantly turn around. “I think you might owe me new shoes.”

My gaze dips to the white tennis shoe now in his hand—with smooshed purple cookie smeared all over the side and bottom.

“Interesting,” I say. “Seems to me that it’s you who owes me a cookie.”

I pivot away but not fast enough to miss his lopsided smile.

My god, he’s cute.

The band announces a short break, and I join the line for drinks, trying to suppress my own smile. Because, like we decided, conversations with Micah—even ones with dreamy lopsided grins—mean nothing.

“Excuse me, but who was that tall hunk of muscle?” I immediately recognize the fiery redhead who’s popped up beside me wearing a short green dress—Fern.

“Just some hockey player,” I say without looking back in his direction.

“Hockey?” She fans herself. “Damn, he just keeps getting hotter.”

I gesture at the empty stage, trying to move on from the topic of Micah. “Thank you so much for getting the band here. This is an amazing turnout.” It hasn’t gone unnoticed that a lot of people here aren’t Bramble Falls residents, leaving me to assume some New Yorkers made the trip up to see the band.

“Oh my gosh, it was no problem at all. They were more than happy to book a gig. And besides, I’d probably give your mom my left arm if she asked for it. She’s great.”

I grin, knowing exactly what she means. Mom’s the unbreakable cement that holds this place together, and she’d do anything for anyone. “She really is.”