Page 62 of Falling Like Snow

“Really. I didn’t wake myself up snoring, there was no dried drool on my pillow, and I needed an extra cup of tea this morning.”

“So you slept like a normal person.”

“Maybe, but it sucked,” I tell him. “I need things to be okay.”

“Well, if you’re done being mad, then, yeah, we’re good.”

A stack of papers is pushed into my face before I can respond. “My mom said you needed these?” Hudson Grant says, his expression bored.

I grab the pages and plaster on my Hospitable Smile—the one Mom wears at events no matter how stressed she is or how much things are going to hell. “Yes! Thank you so much!”

“Yeah,” he says, his hazel eyes bouncing around the busy barn. “Well, you have fun with… all this.” He gives me a fake close-lipped grin before he turns around, his head of curly auburn hair getting lost in the sea of people.

“What are those?” Asher asks, nodding to the papers.

I hold them up. “Holiday activities—games, puzzles, coloring pages, word searches—for when people have to wait, either for their frosting to dry or now for gingerbread to arrive. I figured we’d need something.”

“Genius.”

“You know, this is the second time I’ve been called a genius today. You’d think I’d have better grades.”

“That would require you to study, unfortunately,” Asher laughs. “Speaking of which…”

“Yeah, I know. Finals. I’ll cram this week,” I say.

“Cramming date at your house Tuesday night?”

“I suppose, if we must.”

“We can make it a study party,” he says. “Invite everyone over, get takeout, highlight notes…”

I gasp. “If there’s going to be highlighting, I don’t know how I’ll wait until Tuesday.”

Asher snatches the papers from my hand. “Give me these. I’ll go hand them out. You can stay here and be a brat to someone else.”

I laugh and blow him a kiss, which he pretends to catch and throw into a nearby trash can.

When Cooper arrives, I’m collecting the two-dollar admission we needed to ask for in order to make our money back. Mom practically rips the tray from his hands and thanks him a thousand times over her shoulder as she carries the gingerbread to the tables.

“It’s pretty hectic in here,” Cooper says, his eyes bouncing from Fern getting footage of happy families spreading frosting over their gingerbread to a group of kids having a sword fight with candy canes.

“Good hectic, though,” I chirp. Because even though it’s slammed and a bit overstimulating, it’s very festive, and everyone seems to be having a good time.

“For sure. All you can hear outside is Christmas music and laughter. Seems like a good sign.”

“Absolutely. And thank you for baking those on such short notice,” I tell him.

“No problem.”

“And tell Betty Lynn I said thank you,” I say.

“For what?” he asks.

“For letting me steal you away from work!”

Something passes over Cooper’s face before he rolls his eyes at himself. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll tell her. And on that note, I better get back.”

“I owe you!” I call after him.