She’s so beautiful it’s hard to breathe.
“Okay,” she says softly. “That’s unfair.”
“What is?”
She gestures at the trees, the snow outlining everything like a pencil sketch. “You live inside a snow globe.”
Powder clings to the pines, dusting branches and outlining fence rails. The farm looks gentler under snow, like it’s remembering something.
I’m so used to the view, I forget. Again, she’s making me stop and appreciate the small things here.
“We live in a snow globe,” I rasp, unable to help myself.
Her gaze lands on me, quiet but reassuring.
“Yeah, I guesswedo.”
The corner of her mouth tips up in a grin, and I want to climb the stairs and pull her into my arms. Press a kiss there and listen to Phoebe gag over how mushy we are. Assuming kids still do that. We always did when my parents were affectionate.
But Phoebe breaks the moment, moving off the porch in a blur, boots thudding on the stairs, and arms out to catch the sky. She drops to her knees immediately and starts scooping snow with gloved hands.
“Can we play? Please? Mom, can we?”
Chloe hesitates, measuring risk before joy, her eyes flitting between Phoebe and me. I know exactly what she’s asking.
I’m not done with Opening Day prep. There are a dozen things I could point to. But I told her I wanted it to feel like home here, and her first night here, we’ve already crossed wires.
And I have to remind her, and myself, that this farm isn’t more important than whatever we’re building. I’m not ready to fully lean into that, or say it out loud, but it matters.
They matter.
I’ve got to fix it.
“I’ll get gloves,” I say, already turning toward the mudroom and stepping up onto the porch to head inside for them.
Evelyn is waiting as soon as I open the door, gloves in hand. She doesn’t say anything, but this tiny gesture is a step in the right direction.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“I’ll start some hot chocolate,” she says, quietly. “Kids need something warm after a snow day.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. It was a tradition Mom honored all through our childhood. Hot chocolate, then a loaded bubble bath, with pajamas she tossed into the dryer so they’d be warm when we put them on.
So many little things I took for granted.
By the time I step back onto the porch, Phoebe’s formed a snow lump with big dreams, and Chloe kneels beside her, helping shape it.
“Olaf doesn’t look right,” Phoebe insists.
“You have to be patient, and pack the snow tight,” Chloe says seriously. “Like this.”
She flinches immediately when a snowball hits her shoulder.
Phoebe’s eyes fly to mine, and she gasps. “Mr. Wheeler!”
I hold up my hands and smile as innocently as I can muster.
“It slipped.”
