Page 79 of Falling Like Snow

“Okay… where will you sleep?” he asks. I can practically see him mentally going through the rooms of the house, trying to figure out where there’s another bed.

“We have that old pullout couch in the basement,” I remind him.

“You’re not sleeping in the basement,” he argues.

“All right, well, we’re going to go get ready for bed and leave you two to this little tiff,” Jake says.

As Jake passes, I grab his arm. “What happened to ‘she knows where to find me if she’s interested’?” I whisper.

He sighs. “What can I say, I’m weak.”

I shake my head. “You poor, pathetic boy.”

“I know, right?”

“Night, Jakey,” I say, and he heads to the attic with Slug trailing behind.

“Seriously, though, Sloane, I can sleep in the basement and you can sleep with Ellis,” Cooper says.

“Guys, I seriously don’t mind the basement,” I tell them. “It’s warm, dry, not overly creepy. I’ll be fine. But thank you.”

Cooper nods, and Ellis grabs his hand. “See you all in the morning.”

Everyone says their good-nights as they follow behind them.

“You should at least sleep in your mom’s room with the girls,” Asher says. “You’re tiny. I’m sure you could fit on the air mattress with someone.”

“Stop it. I refuse to argue about this anymore.”

He frowns at me. “Take the couch.”

“Asher—”

“No. I won’t be able to sleep if you’re down there. Because it is cold and creepy,” he says. “Why don’t we both sleep up here? I won’t even get upset if you drool on me.”

I glance at the couch—the very average-sized couch not built for two people sleeping side by side. And for some reason, my stomach somersaults. I certainly don’t hate the idea. Sure, we haven’t slept next to each other overnight, but we’ve lain in bed together plenty of times over the years. We’ve taken countless naps beside each other. This doesn’t have to be a big deal just because my stomach is doing weird things.

Maybe the cinnamon-flavored expired marshmallows are just messing with me.

“Okay,” I say. “But no complaining—about the drool, about the snoring, or about me moving too much.”

“There probably won’t be room for you to be doing any sort of sleep gymnastics, but okay. Deal.” He grabs blankets and pillows from where I threw them on the floor. “Head-to-head or feet-to-head?”

“Oh.” I didn’t realize this was even a consideration. “I’ll do whatever you prefer, but I’m not thrilled with the idea of sleeping with your feet in my face.”

“I don’t blame you,” he says, his lips tilting upward. He tosses both pillows on one end of the couch. “Head-to-head it is. Are you wanting to go to sleep now?”

“I’m not super tired—probably because I slept most of the day yesterday—but I’m okay with trying to sleep if you want to,” I tell him.

“Nah, I’m not that tired either,” he says. “Hot chocolate and Holidate?”

“You sure know the way to a girl’s heart.”

“Only to yours,” he says, setting the blankets on the couch. “It’s simple: sugar and television. Couldn’t get lost if I tried.”

“And this is why we’re best friends.” I switch off the living-room lamp and follow him into the kitchen.

He grabs two Christmas-themed mugs from the cupboard and turns on the faucet. “We’ll have to use water since there’s no milk.”