The first snow of the season came unexpectedly, blanketing Cedarwood in a shimmering white coat. Nate woke to the soft hush of the world outside, the usual sounds of rustling leaves and chirping birds replaced by the muffled quiet that only snowfall could bring.
He stood at his window, a mug of black coffee warming his hands, as he gazed out at the transformed landscape. Snow clung to the bare branches of trees, rooftops wore pristine white caps, and the world felt strangely... peaceful.
But inside him, a storm was brewing.
Lia arrived mid-morning, as she often did, her boots crunching through the snow. Nate heard her before he saw her, her voice carrying through the crisp air as she called his name.
"Nate! Open up! I'm freezing out here!"
He sighed, setting his mug down and heading to the door.
"You know," he said as he opened it, "normal people wait for an invitation before showing up unannounced."
"And you know," Lia retorted, brushing snow off her coat as she stepped inside, "normal people don't need an invitation to check on their friends after a snowstorm."
"It's barely a snowstorm," he muttered, though he closed the door quickly to keep out the cold.
Lia looked around, her sharp eyes taking in the half-finished painting on the easel and the empty coffee mug on the counter. "Wow. Cozy as ever, I see. Do you even own a heater, or are you trying to live like a monk?"
"It's called efficiency," Nate replied dryly.
"It's called miserable," she shot back, pulling off her scarf and tossing it onto the couch. "Good thing I brought reinforcements."
She held up a thermos, the familiar smell of hot chocolate wafting through the air, and a brown paper bag.
"Let me guess," Nate said, arching a brow. "Muffins?"
"Wrong," she said with a grin. "Freshly baked cookies. You're welcome."
They settled in the living room, the small heater humming quietly in the corner. Lia handed Nate a cookie, then wrapped her hands around her own mug of hot chocolate, savoring the warmth.
"Snow days like this always remind me of my mom," she said after a while, her voice softer than usual.
Nate glanced at her, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. "Yeah?"
"She used to love the first snow," Lia continued, her gaze distant. "She'd make hot cocoa from scratch—none of that powdered mix stuff—and we'd sit by the window watching the snow fall. She said it was like the world hit the pause button, giving us all a chance to catch our breath."
Nate didn't reply immediately. He could hear the fondness in her voice, but also the undercurrent of longing.
"You miss her," he said quietly.
"Every day," Lia admitted, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. "She was my rock, you know? The one person who always believed I could do anything, even when I didn't believe it myself."
Nate nodded, understanding more than he cared to admit.
"What about you?" Lia asked, turning the conversation back to him. "What does snow remind you of?"
He hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug. "It used to mean something," he said finally. "When I was a kid, it meant snowball fights with my brother, building forts, making terrible snowmen."
"And now?"
"Now..." He trailed off, his gaze fixed on the window. "Now it's just snow."
Lia frowned, setting her mug down. "You know, for someone so talented, you really suck at seeing beauty in the little things."
Nate snorted. "Says the woman who once spilled coffee on her sketchbook and called it 'abstract art.'"
She laughed, the sound breaking through the tension in the room. "Touché."
As the afternoon wore on, the snow continued to fall, heavy flakes drifting lazily from the gray sky. Lia managed to drag Nate outside, insisting they couldn't waste the "perfect snow."
"Come on!" she called, already halfway to the backyard. "Don't be such a grouch!"
Nate followed reluctantly, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. He watched as Lia plopped down into the snow, spreading her arms and legs to make a snow angel.
"You're a child," he said, shaking his head.
"And you're boring," she shot back, sitting up and flinging a handful of snow at him.
The snowball hit him square in the chest, and for a moment, he just stared at her. Then, with a smirk, he scooped up a handful of snow and launched it at her.
"Oh, it's on now!" Lia declared, scrambling to her feet.
What followed was an all-out snowball war, complete with laughter, shouts, and a surprising amount of accuracy on Lia's part. For the first time in years, Nate found himself laughing—really laughing—and it felt like a weight he didn't even know he carried had lifted.
By the time they called a truce, both of them were soaked and breathless, their cheeks flushed from the cold. They collapsed onto the snow, lying side by side as the sky began to darken.
"This," Lia said, her voice filled with wonder, "is what snow is supposed to feel like."
Nate turned his head to look at her, the snowflakes catching in her hair and the corners of her smile soft. For a moment, he allowed himself to just be in the moment, to forget about the past and the walls he'd built around himself.
"Maybe it's not so bad," he admitted.
She grinned, her eyes sparkling. "See? I knew I'd win you over eventually."
As they headed back inside, the warmth of the house enveloping them, Nate realized something he hadn't let himself consider before.
Lia wasn't just a distraction.
She was becoming a part of his life.
And that terrified him.