When I pull away, there are snowflakes on his eyelashes. I laugh and brush them off with the pad of my thumb. I wait for a response, but he’s frozen. Shocked. Maybe mesmerized? I’m a fantastic kisser. He’s definitely savoring the moment. I bet he’s going to send me a wine and cheese basket tomorrow.

“What the hell—”

“Asher?”

Francesca is standing next to us, hand in hand with Ginger Beard. I grab Asher’s hand, tucking myself next to him. He stiffens.

“Frankie… Brent…” he slowly states. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she laughs. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. I’ve been—”

“I’m Olivia,” I say and shove my free hand at her. “Your performance was stunning.”

Francesca looks down at me the way most people do—like I’m an alien from some far off planet. I’m not offended. I like being different.

“Thanks,” she says slowly.

She’s giving me a once over. From the points of my boots to the bobble of my hat, she takes in all five feet and one inch of me. It reads so clearly over her face. She’s wondering how Asher went from her to me. We’re exact opposites. We have nothing in common. Physically. Intellectually. Spiritually. Emotionally. Mentally. We’re so different.

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” she says to Asher, practically disregarding my entire existence.

“I’m—”

“It’s still new,” I tell her. “We just started telling people.”

“I see,” she says. “Where did you meet?”

“Work.”

“Interesting,” she says and tugs on Brent’s hand, which is code for I’m happy and in love and not crying over you either. “If you two don’t have plans, there’s an after party at the Rose Tavern across the street. It's an open bar.”

“Yeah, we—”

“We’d love to!” I say and tug on Asher’s hand, which is my code for you better start playing along before we both end up looking like fools.

* * *

We get all the way to the bar before Asher even says a word to me.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I take my hat off and shake out my blonde hair that has gone all frizzy from the snow. A chill runs through me as I start to unthaw. I shiver when I slip my arms out of my jacket.

“I’m going to order a drink,” I say and wave over the bartender. “Can I get a glass of your cheapest red wine?”

“It’s an open bar…”

“I don’t like to live above my means.”

He furrows his brows at me and then looks at Asher. “And for you?”

“Do you have Stella on tap?”

“No, but I have a craft that’s fairly similar.”

Asher frowns. “Grey Goose and soda with lime.”

He waits until the bartender is making our drinks before he starts glaring at me again.