The cold is the first thing to greet us when we step onto the rooftop. I love the feel of it on my face after an autumn that never seemed to end. Teddy tilts his head and a snowflake lands on his cheek, melting on impact. Another follows, brushing his lips before vanishing. The sharp lines of pain and frustration carved on his face over the last days blur beneaththe flakes. I watch his face soften, tension easing out of his jaw. His mouth parts slightly in wonder. My eyes fixate on him and uninvited feelings flutter in my stomach.
“When I was younger and if Uncle Jake was in the country, he’d swing by school and take me outside during the first snow. No matter how late it was, he’d bundle me up and say, ‘You’ve gotta catch the season’s first flakes for good luck.’ I’d run around the yard of our private school with my tongue out. He’d laugh and swear it was the most important tradition we had,” he says wistfully, a grin on his face.
“That’s such a lovely memory.”
“Most of my best memories include either Jake, Em or Jasper.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “That says a lot about the kind of people they are. Holding onto the memories of them the way you do.”
He only hums in response. I take in our surroundings, looking over the edge. The trees that were bare only hours ago are now draped in a white veil, matching the rest of the hospital yard.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Tell me what you see.”
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket before speaking. “It looks like everything’s dusted in powdered sugar. The trees, the ground, even the cars in the parking lot. We’re inside a snow globe that hasn’t settled yet. The flakes are getting bigger by the minute. It truly is magical.”
Teddy exhales a long breath that curls in the cold. He tips his face toward me, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting across his full lips. “Thanks for bringing me out here.”
“Anytime.”
I mean it with my whole chest. If he asked me to wheel him into a blizzard just to feel something, I’d do it without a second thought.
“I didn’t think I’d care about snow this year. Not this way. But I actually do, because of you and your enthusiasm,” he admits.
Kneeling beside him, my hand gently covers his. “Good, because you should be able to feel the beauty in the small things even if you can’t see them.”
He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, not awkward but thoughtful. He turns his hand over beneath mine, palm up, and lets it rest there. Not quite holding onto mine, not quite letting go. His charming, dimpled smile widens as he tips his head back, letting the flakes fall across his face. “I’ve experienced what feels like hundreds of snowstorms in my lifetime, but this one feels different.”
“Because you’re paying attention to it differently.”
“Somehow this moment feels bigger than I imagined.”
I murmur a quiet “yeah,” the word carried off by the falling snow and wind. It feels small compared to what’s pressing beneath my breastbone, but it’s all I can manage. The hush around us makes it feel like we’re suspended in time.
"We should go inside before I freeze to death," Teddy jokes, but there’s an edge in his voice.
My stomach drops. I’d been so caught up in the magic of the moment that I forgot to think about what it might be doing to him. Guilt stabs sharp and fast, panic bubbling inside as I kneel closer. “What’s wrong?”
He shifts uncomfortably under the blanket. “It’s the cold andthe light together, I guess. My head is pounding…I don’t wanna push it too far.”
“Shit. We better get you inside then.”
I tuck the blanket more securely around his legs and turn the chair back toward the elevator. The warmth of the hospital air greets us as soon as the doors open, chasing the bite of winter from our skin.
When we’re moving toward the neuro wing door a few floors down, a voice calls out. “Are you Teddy Seaborn?”
I glance over my shoulder and spot a pretty nurse from another ward, her eyes wide with recognition.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he confirms, the faint bite in his tone making it clear he’s not thrilled about the attention.
“I didn’t know you’d be out and about. It’s really great to meet you—I’m a huge fan. How are you doing?” she asks, ignoring his discomfort and continuing to fangirl, even as I try to steer us away.
Teddy turns his head the other direction. “I’m doing fine, thanks.”
“Thanks for stopping to say hi.” I smile at my fellow nurse, hoping to ease the building tension. “But we should get back to his room.”
“It’s surreal seeing you here. Hope you feel better soon,” she calls to our backs as I push his wheelchair forward.
