Steam swirled from my fresh cup of coffee as I clutched it while staring out the window in my living room. The gray sky was heavy, holding back a flood of snow. The toaster pinging in the kitchen distracted me, thankfully, because I was already lost in thought.

"You mentioned needing my help." Lily shuffled behind me. Peering over my shoulder, I warned her that the plate of toast in her hand better not have butter and jelly that stain my couch. Rolling her eyes as she sat on the armrest of the couch, she continued. "You said I could help with your weddings on New Year's Eve. Tell me what you need."

"You don't want to probe about last night?" I took a sip of coffee.

"It was a mistake," she considered, "and I shouldn't have pulled you into it."

Turning to face her, I could see the sincerity in her eyes. "I'm always here for you, Lily. I realized something last night, though. Maybe it was good that I went. Closure, or whatever."

"Why are you blushing?"

"What?" I touched my cheeks. "I'm not."

Lily moved from the couch, placing her plate of toast on the coffee table and meeting me at the window. She smiled while placing her palm on my forehead.

"Maybe you're coming down with something," she teased. "Perhaps, the love sickness? Did you see Aidan last night, Vi?"

Swatting away her hand, I sipped my coffee and turned back to the window. "I wish I didn't love you so much," I groaned, "because kicking you out would be so much easier."

"At first, I thought you were saying that about him, that you love him so much." Lily's tone softened. "What do I know? How can I help with the upcoming weddings?"

Grateful she changed the topic, I left last night with the ring in my vanity, sealed up and contained underneath reality. Snow dusted the roads, making for a slippery next few days as the sky swelled with the promise of more.

I was typing an email when my thoughts first drifted back to seeing Aidan at the engagement party, and I was asleep the second time. It was just a flash, like how quickly he was there as I climbed the stairs, and gone just as fast. I guessed I couldn't keep everything locked in that tiny box, because he was back to haunting my dreams.

I'd gone to the party with a purpose, fueled by a negative emotion that protected me from feeling much. But days later, flashes of him waking me up, I realized I hadn't thought about actually seeing him. Physically there, alive, gorgeous...and engaged. I just hoped he was happy.

It wasn't my business, but Roxy Powell wasn't his type. Part of me worried for him, having known the threads that wove his heart, that something wasn't right. And the fact he was still lieutenant commander after all this time had me wondering what actually happened to him abroad.

Michael held the door for me as I stepped out into the cold workday. "It's supposed to be a bad one," he informed, "so you let me know if you'll need a special car to get home."

Thanking him, I chose to walk. It started off happily, but ended up being a mushy mess. At least three inches fell while I adventured only a few blocks away. My bag was growing heavier on my shoulder, my shoes more wet. Do I still have toes?

I made it to our small office hours late, finding the space dark and empty. I couldn't reach for my phone on the frigid walk, so I hadn't realized Josie texted earlier about being unable to come in. Deciding I might as well stay to get something done in solitude, without my meddling sister and curious assistant, hours flew before a weather alert buzzed on my phone.

Dangerous conditions. Up to eighteen inches expected over night. Seek shelter immediately.

Finishing the final items on a to-do list for one of the New Year's Even weddings, I contemplated the quickest way home. Peeking out the window at the wall of white already blocking my view, I had to decide the best way to get home on foot.

After I'd locked the office and stuffed myself back into my coat, I tried leaving. There were already several inches covering the sidewalk, and visibility was limited to just a few feet ahead of me. I could barely make out the dim traffic lights through the blustering snow as I marched along what I thought was the sidewalk. The roads were clear of traffic, and it felt like I was the only one out there, but that could've been because I literally couldn't see.

It seemed like forever before I reached the next few blocks, my cheeks raw from the wind, and icicles forming in my hair. Stopping for a snow plow that might as well have not even tried because more snow fell in its trail, I squinted to see what I could of the buildings around me.

A soft flicker of yellow wiggled ahead, like its sign was victim to the wind, blowing wherever the snow pushed it to go. The glowing letters were a beacon of hope, and I marched through the snow as quickly as I could once the plow passed. The golden lights of the bookstore sign were one part of my past that I was grateful to find in that moment, shoving open the heavy wooden doors as snow flew in behind me. When I forced it shut, closing my eyes for a moment, the interior lights flickered. Pulling my wet hair from my face, I stepped inside, guided by the dimming row of lights above me.

"Oh, dear," a man murmured from the counter. "I always," he paused, wobbling around the corner, grunting slightly as if the movement caused pain, "left the light for weary travelers." His gray eyes softened with his smile upon recognizing me. "And those with weary hearts. If I died and went to heaven, I'd shout from the clouds about finally seeing you after all these years, Miss Violet."

"Has it been years, Mr. Elliott?" I questioned, approaching his outstretched arms. "And weary hearts? Sir, I've never been weary in this bookstore, no matter the time or weather that's kept us apart or brought us together. You say that in plural, though." I looked at him, remembering the story he told me as a child about the scar along his cheek that memorialized his time in war decades prior. "How is your heart?"

"Fine," he patted his chest, smiling at me, "as is Lenora. Old, but, here. Although, you're not alone, Miss Violet." His bony arm linked around mine, and I followed his lead a few feet away just as the lights went out.

"Here," I whispered, shuffling through my bag in the dark. "I have a flashlight." Nothing happened as I swiped my chilled fingers across the screen. "I'm sorry. Just need to warm up, I think."

"If we can get any light," he replied, "I'll get the generator on and make us some tea."

Quiet footsteps surrounded us, soft but powerful, followed by a muted blue glow from a cell phone. Mr. Elliott thanked whoever it was and linked their arm, too. I could only see the dark outline of our feet and the steady glow in my periphery as I kept my gaze down.

I knew where we were going, having worked in the bookstore throughout high school after practically living in it as a child. The route to the small kitchen where Mr. Elliott and his wife served coffee, tea, and baked goods hadn't changed, and I could smell nostalgia in the air. Mr. Elliott pulled out a chair for me, despite my offers to help with the generator, and I sat while the glow of the other phone drifted away behind me.

In the dark, my senses were heightened, and I could practically taste Mrs. Elliott's lavender honey cookies in my imagination. Footsteps behind me snapped me from the memory, and a voice pulled at every string of my heart.

"I guess this weather has other plans for us."