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  I watch the snowflakes falling,

  Too many for me to see,

  But I know each one is beautiful,

  Special and unique.

  Eric turned back to the piano and played the chorus. He had a hunch that it would be a hit. Maybe not a smash of the same magnitude as “What Makes You Beautiful,” but somewhere in the ballpark. The thirteen-to-eighteen demo would go wild for it, assuming they understood the metaphor: the snowflakes were the fans. And assuming he could convince his record label not to mess around too much with the lyrics. Apparently, they were threatening to bring in an outside songwriter. Maury had broken the news to him this evening after the show.

  “Don’t take it personally, kid. They just think some of the lyrics come across a little insincere.”

  Eric frowned, remembering. Insincere? What did the label expect? If he ever wrote a song about how he really saw his fans, they’d ban it in every country for explicit language.

  “So go rewrite it yourself,” Maury had said to him. “Maybe write a song about your mystery girl on the other end of all the text messages.”

  “Maury, I told you—”

  “Write them a love song about something real, Eric. That’s all they’re asking.”

  Eric had been livid at the time, but maybe it wasn’t the worst advice after all. The faintest spark of an idea had just popped into his head…

  He’d called the song “Snowflakes,” but maybe that was the problem. Maybe it should be “Snowflake.” Singular. Not a song about all his fans. Just one. A song about feeling cold and alone, and finding that one perfect snowflake in the middle of a raging blizzard.

  A love song?

  Was it possible?

  Eric shook his head, uncertain. How could it be love? Real love? And more importantly, if it was real love, then what on earth was he going to do about it?

  He knew Tessa was still waiting for his answer on the other end of the line.

  Tessa H: Taylor, do you know how many selfies Eric Thorn must get? He wouldn’t even notice it.

  Eric’s shoulders slumped. For now, he changed his tune. Maybe he didn’t want to see her picture after all. Not yet. He suddenly realized where that might lead, and the thought of it made him tremble. If he fell for Tessa, he knew he couldn’t hide behind a fake profile any longer. Not if he wanted it to go anywhere. He would have to tell her the truth. And that meant showing her his own face in return.

  Taylor: Nah, you’re right. Too many fans. Too many faces for him to see just one.

  Tessa H: He probably didn’t even follow me himself. I bet some publicist was using his account just now, and her finger slipped.

  But Eric knew the truth. He’d already noticed her in the crowd. Now he couldn’t look away. He hadn’t even meant to talk to her tonight, and yet somehow there he was.

  He stood up from the piano and padded toward the bedroom, typing out another message as he went.

  Taylor: You’re right. Probably wasn’t even him. Because if Eric ever noticed your existence, Tessa, I think he’d be the one DM’ing you.

  THE INTERROGATION

  (FRAGMENT 6)

  December 31, 2016 9:17 p.m.

  Case #: 124.678.21–001

  OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT OF POLICE INTERROGATION

  —START PAGE 6—

  HART: You have to understand, I never thought it would turn into something real. Something face-to-face. The two of us talked on Twitter, and I figured that was the start and end of it.

  INVESTIGATOR: Did you suspect at any time that @EricThornSucks might be someone other than he purported to be?

  HART: Of course. I’m not completely naive. I had some concerns. There were a lot of details that seemed sketchy.

  INVESTIGATOR: So your suspicions were of a general nature?

  HART: Yeah. Just general paranoia. I don’t know. I thought it would be like it always is on Catfish.

  INVESTIGATOR: On the television program, you mean?

  HART: Right. Like, it would turn out Taylor was actually a married mother of eight in the witness protection program. Something random like that. Dr. Regan kept encouraging me to move the relationship over to the phone. She wanted me to keep pushing myself for therapy. I was too scared though. Twitter’s so nice and anonymous. It felt safer that way.

  INVESTIGATOR: Did @EricThornSucks ever suggest communicating more directly?

  HART: No, but I was pretty open about my phobias.

  INVESTIGATOR: OK, Tessa. Can you walk us through how this plan for the two of you to meet in person first came about?

  HART: I can’t believe I fell for it.

  INVESTIGATOR: Tessa? Do you recall which one of you first suggested meeting in person?

  HART: He did. It was all because of the contest.

  INVESTIGATOR: Contest?

  HART: It was his idea for me to enter. I never thought in a million years that I would win.

  INVESTIGATOR: When did this exchange take place? Can you show me on your Twitter account?

  HART: Not too long ago. It might have been Christmas Eve… [pause] Here. Here it is.

  INVESTIGATOR: Yes, I see. Let the record show that Ms. Hart is indicating a message exchange that took place on December 24. Tessa, was there a message from the other account directly requesting a meeting?

  HART: No. I mean, not directly. It was more like… [pause] Here. This. And this one. See?

  INVESTIGATOR: I see. That’s very helpful. For the record, Ms. Hart is indicating a direct message sent from the Twitter account @EricThornSucks. The time stamp is December 24, 2016 at 2:12 p.m. The message states, and I quote: “I don’t know, Tessa. Maybe you just need the proper motivation. Wouldn’t you leave your house if Eric Thorn came to your town to play?”

  19

  SMALL STEPS

  December 24, 2016

  Tessa stood at her bedroom window. She tilted the blinds half-open, rolling the plastic wand between her fingers. She’d felt more comfortable looking out lately, ever since the fall had come and gone. The cluster of tall sycamore trees had long since lost their leaves. Now, she could see through the empty branches all the way to the road.

  See? she told herself. No one out there. There was no place in that barren, windswept landscape for some lurking threat to hide. It was all in her head. Pure paranoia. So why couldn’t she rid herself of this irrational sense of dread?

  Hot tears pricked her eyes, and Tessa quickly blinked them away. She shouldn’t dwell on her shortcomings. Better to celebrate her progress and strive to keep moving forward. She should probably work on her thought journal. She had a lot to chew over since her last session with Dr. Regan. Her therapist had zeroed in on the one topic that occupied most of Tessa’s waking thoughts these days—even more than Eric Thorn.

  Taylor.

  “I hear you saying that you care about him, Tessa. Can you tell me more about that?”

  Tessa had lost her cool for a moment at the question—the sheer repetitiveness. Her laughter had sounded a bit unhinged, even to her own ears.

  “Did I say something to amuse you?”

  “I know what you’re trying to ask. You want to know if I have feelings for him, right?”

  Dr. Regan’s answer had surprised her. “No, Tessa. We both know you have feelings for Taylor. The question is how deep those feelings go.”

  “You mean, am I in love with him?”

  Dr. Regan had merely cocked her head, waiting for Tessa to answer for herself.

  “I don’t know,” Tessa had whispered. “Love? That’s a scary word.”

  But it was more than just the word that frightened her. When it came to Taylor, no matter how close they became, she could never quite shake the thought that he was hiding something.

  Was it all in her head?

  Tessa sprawled across her bed, reaching for her phone. Forget the journal. She needed to go back over their last conversation and search for clues.

  Time Stamp 12/22/2016, 1:49 a.m.

  Tessa H: I can trust yo
u, right?

  Taylor: Sure. What’s not to trust?

  Tessa H: Maybe I’ve just seen Catfish too many times…You’re not catfishing me, are you?

  Taylor: Ummm, I don’t think so. Define catfishing.

  Tessa H: Don’t you ever watch MTV?

  Taylor: It’s been a while…

  Tessa H: Pretty much the same plot twist every time. Are you secretly a girl?

  Taylor: You can’t seriously think I’m a girl, Tessa. Not after all the shit you gave me when you found out I WASN’T a girl!

  Tessa chewed on her thumbnail as she reread it. She assumed he found it funny, but it was so hard to read someone’s tone over text. Was he laughing at her total lack of logic? Or was he annoyed by the cross-examination?

  He had to know it was just the phobia talking. That was the definition of phobia after all—not just a fear, but an irrational fear. Her suspicions about Taylor made no more sense than this lingering sensation that she was being watched.

  Did he understand that, or was she slowly driving him away? That conversation had taken place two days ago, and he hadn’t come online again since. He said he had some big work project going on, but Tessa wasn’t sure she bought it. Family obligations, maybe. But work? On Christmas Eve?

  Tessa frowned. Maybe it was true. Some people had to work today. Tessa’s own mother always took extra holiday shifts to rack up the overtime pay. Her mother would stay at the hospital overnight tonight and then spend Christmas Day catching up on sleep. Same schedule next week for New Year’s Eve.

  But Taylor’s job didn’t seem like the kind that involved extra shifts and overtime. Maybe it was just a flimsy excuse. When it came right down to it, could she believe anything Taylor told her? Or was their entire relationship built on half truths and outright lies?

  • • •

  Eric squeezed his eyes shut and then forced them back open with a grunt. He’d arrived at the point of sleep deprivation where vision started to fail. His eyes felt like someone had scraped off the corneas with sandpaper.

  He’d just returned home after a marathon recording session. The producer had called it a wrap an hour ago, and not a moment too soon. His label was planning to leak the new single tomorrow morning—a surprise Christmas present to the fans. He’d spent all night in the studio to get the final version perfect. Now, at least the crew would get to spend the holiday with their families.

  No such luck for Eric. His latest tour kicked off on December 27, and he still had new song arrangements to rehearse. He didn’t have time for holidays. He supposed he’d call home tomorrow morning, and then he’d try to meet up with his parents at some point on the road.

  The thought might have upset him if he hadn’t felt so tired. At the moment, he counted himself lucky to have a few hours for a nap. He made his way to the large picture window with its panoramic view over the Hollywood Hills and the downtown LA skyline in the distance. He yanked the heavy curtains closed to block out the midafternoon sunlight.

  In spite of his fatigue, Eric couldn’t help but feel a glow of satisfaction with the new track. He knew a hit when he heard one. That song was sure to smash. He’d rewritten most of the lyrics and played around with the arrangement. In the end, he’d changed the title from “Snowflakes” to “Snowflake,” and he’d gotten rid of the former chorus, full of fake flattery and barely concealed contempt.

  Maybe he owed the stuffed suits at the record label a thank-you. As much as Eric hated to admit it, they’d forced him to look at the song with fresh eyes. They’d led him to see the truth that had been staring him in the face.

  The truth. The reason he’d felt so lost in those dark days after Tessa blocked him. The reason he kept tweeting at her, over and over, begging her to follow him back. And the reason he’d scraped together every spare moment in the months since and spent all of it talking to @TessaHeartsEric.

  Because Tessa was the special one. Not the rest of them. Just her.

  The rewrite was a piece of cake after that. He’d handed off a brand-new version to Maury the very next day.

  I watched the snowflakes falling.

  Too many for me to see.

  Each one just like the others,

  Not special or unique.

  Then I opened up my window.

  One snowflake fell inside.

  I saw that it was beautiful.

  It melted and I cried.

  Just one snowflake.

  Come on and melt with me.

  Perfect snowflake,

  My love will set you free.

  Just one snowflake.

  You thought that no one cared.

  Perfect snowflake,

  I’ll catch you. Don’t be scared…

  Eric couldn’t deny his feelings any longer. Even now, exhausted, with a warm bed beckoning, he felt the overwhelming urge to message her. They hadn’t chatted at all last night. He’d been too busy working. He couldn’t give in to sleep until he at least wished her a Merry Christmas.

  There was only one little problem remaining—one lingering issue that he could no longer push to the back of his mind. He’d kept a secret from her all this time. Not a bad secret, but he knew he had to come clean. Their relationship could never move forward until she knew the truth.

  But Eric had a plan to handle that.

  He’d pitched the idea himself, and the marketing gurus at the record label were more than happy to comply. They always ran Twitter contests around the holidays: Retweet to win free tickets… Retweet for an autographed poster… This time, he merely upped the ante: “Retweet for a chance to win a private show on New Year’s Eve.”

  They’d set the deadline to enter for today, and the retweet count already stood at half a million. Eric felt a tingle of anticipation as he opened Twitter and pulled up Tessa’s profile—but his face fell at what he saw.

  She still hadn’t retweeted it? What was she waiting for? She usually retweeted everything from @EricThorn as a matter of course, but not this one. She was going to need a little more encouragement.

  Eric stripped off his jeans and slipped into bed, as he composed a new DM to Tessa.

  Taylor: You there?

  Tessa H: Of course. Are you still working?

  Taylor: No, just got home. Had to pull an all-nighter. About to catch a nap now.

  Tessa H: Poor baby. You should sleep.

  Taylor: I’m lying in bed with my phone tucked under the covers with me…pretending something else is tucked under the covers with me…

  Tessa H: Are you getting impatient?

  Taylor: Not impatient. Lonely, maybe. It might be nice to spend Christmas with someone special for a change.

  Tessa H: Someone special?

  Taylor: Tessa, I want to see your face. I want to hear your voice…

  Tessa H: Don’t.

  Taylor: And smell your hair…

  Tessa H: Taylor, don’t.

  Taylor: And touch your skin…

  Tessa H: Stop it.

  Taylor: It’s the truth.

  Tessa H: I want those things too, but it’s scary for me. Everything is scary for me.

  Taylor: If you feel scared, then I want to wrap you in my arms and hold you tight until you feel safe again. I want all of that.

  Tessa H: Please stop. I’m not ready. I don’t want to lose you, but I’m not ready.

  Eric let out his breath with a long sigh. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Time. He didn’t have time. He’d already let this charade drag on for months. Each day that passed without telling her only compounded the lie further.

  He had to come clean.

  He had to do it in person.

  He had to do it soon.

  And that meant he had to speed up the time line just a little. As much as he hated pressuring her, he saw no other choice.

  Taylor: OK, let’s make a deal.

  Tessa H: What kind of deal?

  Taylor: You enter the New Year’s Eve contest that Eric Thorn is running. If you win, you tell me where and when,
and I’ll come meet you at the show. In person.

  Tessa H: I just told you I’m not ready. Why would some Twitter contest change anything?

  Taylor: I don’t know, Tessa. Maybe you just need the proper motivation. Wouldn’t you leave your house if Eric Thorn came to your town to play?

  Tessa H: Taylor, have you seen how many retweets that thing has? The odds are a zillion to one.

  Taylor: Exactly! Small steps. Teeny, tiny, little steps.

  Tessa H: And if I agree to this right now, do you promise to drop the subject?

  Taylor: Yes. Consider it dropped.

  Eric couldn’t help but smile as he added one last message.

  Taylor: That is, unless you win…

  THE INTERROGATION

  (FRAGMENT 7)

  December 31, 2016, 8:42 p.m.

  Case #: 124.678.21–001

  OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF POLICE INTERVIEW

  —START PAGE 8—

  INVESTIGATOR: How long have you been in Texas, Mr. Thorn?

  THORN: Just today. I came in for the show.

  INVESTIGATOR: You were scheduled to perform a private concert here in Midland, Texas, as the grand prize of a contest. Is that correct?

  THORN: Well, basically. Except that the contest was a crock of shit. You know that, right?

  INVESTIGATOR: By all means, enlighten us.

  THORN: My label’s always up my ass to do social media. I agreed to do it as long as they let me pick the winner myself this time.

  INVESTIGATOR: So you set up a spurious contest as a ruse to meet Tessa Hart?

  THORN: Come on, man. A ruse? It was supposed to be a grand romantic gesture.

  INVESTIGATOR: And was Tessa aware of this romantic gesture?

  THORN: Not exactly. She thought she won a private New Year’s Eve concert for herself and her fifty closest friends. But of course she doesn’t have fifty friends. Or if she did, she wouldn’t want them all in a room with her. So she just invited two.