Page 29 of Falling Like Snow

Me: My hero.

Asher:

Asher: Oh and wear snow pants.

Me:… so we’re eating snow for dinner? That doesn’t count as food.

Asher: Shut up.

Me: Yes, boss.

Chapter Eight

At seven o’clock I park on the street in front of Asher’s gray ranch home. He spent the day hanging icicle lights along the gutters and putting a giant light-up reindeer display in the front yard to compete in the Christmas-light display contest. With its steamed-up frosted front windows and puffs of smoke pouring from the chimney, the Yoshida house looks magical.

I close my car door as Asher bounces down his porch steps in his black snow pants.

“Where’s my dinner?” I ask, meeting him in the driveway.

He gestures at the lawn. “All around you,” he jokes.

“Ha-ha.” I scoop snow into my hand and take a bite. “In that case, I hope you’re hungry too.”

I smash the rest into the side of his face.

He gapes at me, snow sticking to his cheek and falling from his chin. “You did not just do that.”

He doesn’t give me time to respond before he’s throwing me over his shoulder and jogging into the yard.

“What are you doing?” I scream.

He tosses me to the ground and falls on top of me, the snow softening our landing. With me pinned beneath him, Asher picks up a huge pile of snow and holds it like he’s going to throw it in my face.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, even though I know he absolutely would.

“You don’t think?” he asks. “ ’Cause I think you’ve earned it.”

“Don’t. Please,” I beg through my giggles.

He leans down so he’s only inches from my face, so close that I can make out the darker brown ring around his irises. “You know what? I think a better punishment is to just not give you your surprise.”

My eyebrows shoot upward. “There’s a surprise?”

“No. There was a surprise. Not anymore. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Asher!” Mrs. Yoshida calls from the porch. “Unless you’re going to kiss her, get off that poor girl and come grab your food before it gets cold.”

Asher rears back, his cheeks flaring. “God, Mom, stop being weird. We’re coming.” He rolls off me and we both climb to our feet.

“Ah, so there is real food. Is that my surprise?” I ask, trying to keep things light. We’ve grown used to people making comments about us, but it doesn’t make it any less awkward when it happens.

“Only part of it,” he says, brushing the snow off his green jacket.

“Do I get the other part of it or am I still being punished?”

He smirks. “Who said you’re even getting the dinner part of it? Maybe I’ll just make you watch me eat.”

“Mean.”