"God, you look cold." Murray, my boss, looked me up and down as I stepped through the door, swiping my boots on the rug.

"Cold, yes." I sniffed loudly. "Unprepared, no." Tugging Oswald off of my head, I held out the cardboard tray of drinks. "For you."

"Aw." His bottlebrush moustache curved upward in a smile. "You shouldn't've."

"No, I really should have," I replied with a beam as he wrestled the coffee from its spot. "Where's Wendy?"

"At the copy centre." He quirked an eyebrow, widening one of his eyes, which were reduced kind of abnormally behind his thick glasses. He'd always struck me as a huge resemblance to a turtle. Or that guy off of the Simpsons. But I didn't watch enough of it to know what I was talking about, so I stuck with the turtle analogy.

"What?" I asked at his scrutinizing look.

"You're not taking brown-nosing lessons from her, are you?"

"If I was, would I be taking her coffee?"

"Ooh, a double negative. Sheesh, it's Monday, don't start that kind of stuff this early in the week."

I didn't really understand what he said, so I just smiled and hobbled on frozen feet to the copy centre. I dropped off the snowflake latte at Wendy's station and headed to the back to my locker. Exchanging my coat, hat, mitts, scarf, and backpack for a sharp-looking pair of black flats, I slammed the door shut, clipped the lock back on and slipped the flats over my little ice-cubed toes. Heading back out, clutching my own latte in my clammy hands, I passed a hand over my eyes. I was so glad that I had made sure to get an extra shot of espresso. After the day I'd had, I deserved it.

"Cheers!" Wendy held her cup up with a smile, so I did too, then downed almost half of my drink. Her head ducked back down to catch the laminated bumblebees flopping out of the machine. Her voice floated up and over the counter. "I'll be up there in a second. Why don't you go and help that customer?"

I glanced anxiously over the shelves of the Stationer's. Sure enough, wedged between the Playmobil and the filing folders, a grey head bobbed around.

I'd only been working at this office supply/specialty toy store for the past few weeks, but I still couldn't get used to talking to people. Especially strangers in this stupid little town.

With no small amount of charm, oozed on to the point of embarrassment, I guided the little old lady to the opposite end of the toy section (crazy old coot was going to let her two year old grandson play with dolls the size of a baby carrot. Maybe she should visit the doctor and get off a few of those prescription meds. They seemed to be addling her brain). I made my way back to the cash register, gulping my coffee like it was the elixir of life. Two full carts of toys waited for me, with a pricing gun and a packing list resting on top of a box of games.

I breathed a bit easier. These jobs I liked. I liked their definite system - find the price, set the gun, punch out stickers, stick onto barcode, organize priced items into groups, find their homes on the shelves. No questions asked. Unlike talking wishy-washy with people who didn't know what they were talking about. I didn't like the pressure of having to find the perfect fit for them. I mean, I didn't mind so much behind the register, since our time together had an end in sight, and they had what they wanted in their meaty little hands, and I was able to get money into mine.

Relieved, I picked up the gun, clicking the little wheel so the stamp read $18.95EA, and started snapping stickers onto Groovy Girls' tags. When the little old lady was finished and ready to buy (she clutched a box of those weird "specialty" building blocks that look like half-cracked eggs, but hey, it was better than a choking hazard), I rang her through with a shy smile.

"Jack Frost been nipping at your nose?" she asked good-naturedly, gesturing to my red nose.

"More like knawing," I admitted, and she chuckled at me as I pulled a Kleenex from the box I kept handy. "You stay warm, now."

Work was usually pretty slow, and today was no exception. Even I had to admit our prices were outrageous, so only people who knew Murray came in, or diehard local shoppers. During the day, I was lucky to ring through a person every hour. Most of the time, people came in to get things copied or laminated, which wasn't in my job description, which meant that I spent a lot of the time testing out toys. I could personally guarantee that all the tin yo-yos in the front and the Rubik's cubes on display worked perfectly. When I was really bored, I'd doodle around on the testing pads in the pen section. It was weird to think that bits of me were written down in that store, but it was somewhat comforting to think that no one would ever realize it was there.

I kept checking my watch every five minutes, but it just seemed to egg time on. Oh, you're in a hurry? Oh, I'll just take my time then, my watch seemed to jeer at me.

At five-thirty, the bell letting us know someone was opening the door rang, just like it always did. A rush of cold air blasted the hair back from my face, and I didn't look up from my spot on the floor, where I sat placing things in the display case. I just shouted up and over my shoulder toward the general direction of the door: "Just a minute, Jules, Wendy's cutting some business cards."

"Although I appreciate the compliment, a jewel, I am not."

Um.

"I'm more of a snowflake, myself. Unless, of course, you want to call me a jewel."

That was not Julie. As I slid the newest Rory's Story Cubes onto a cleared space, I turned my head toward the door.

A guy was standing there.

A guy my age.

A good-looking guy.

In Brooks? How was this even possible?

A flop of snow white hair stuck up in all directions, dipping into his eyes, which were a frosty grey-blue. They seemed to freeze me in place. Cool hues of silver battled brightness of cobalt surrounding his pupils - sort of like how green melded into brown in my own irises. His face was angular, and his eyebrows were almost black - surprisingly dark, considering the overall paleness of him. He looked as if he would instantly burn to a crisp after ten minutes in direct sunlight. His cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears were delicately pink, like he'd only been touched by the cold by the three-second trip from the car to the front door - although I could see no car beyond the front display. His thin neck disappeared into a hoodie that was laced with frost, which was no surprise to me, but the fact that he was barefoot in this weather kind of did throw me for a loop. That, his battered pants (they looked at least 300 years out of style), and what looked like a shepherd's crook, hooked over his shoulder casually, were admittedly a bit odd.

"And now she's staring," he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. It was enough to snap me out of my observations. "Don't let your ovaries explode over there."

I blushed a bit. "Umm… sorry. There's just this lady who usually comes in at this time to visit with Wendy in the back…" I hoisted myself to my feet, brushing dust off of my dark jeans. I mentally kicked myself for the awkward rambling, twitching my mouth up in a sheepish grin. "Um. Can I help you with anything?"

The light left his eyes, and the cockiness that oozed from his voice a few moments before disappeared. He seemed even confused, if a touch embarrassed. "Wait a minute. You can see me?"

"Um, yeah." My eyebrows collided. "You feeling alright, buddy? Been at the Brooks' too long?" That was the bar a block down the street. You'd be surprised at how many lovely patrons of the Brooks' I had to help out the door. Most of the time, they couldn't tell which way was up.

"You can hear me, too." He nodded, a sheepish smile pinning me into place under his hair. "I didn't mean to creep you out. I didn't think you could hear me."

"What, standing three feet from me? You were looking right at me!" I scoffed. "Dude, you need some help."

He narrowed his eyes at me. I couldn't decide if he was evaluating, or being creepy, with that half-cocked grin. "And you're how old? Eighteen? Nineteen?"

I crossed my arms. I didn't like where this was going. Like I was going to tell a complete stranger what my age was. Pitching my usual social awkwardness aside, my self-defence kicked in. I snapped, "Should I grab Murray? I'm kind of busy here."

"Oh, don't let me get in the way." He flashed a smile, one I could only call minty, it was so sharp and white. So incredibly boyishly lopsided. "I'll just have a look around."

He swung himself around on one heel, stooping to look closer at things that caught his eye. I sighed, and turned back to my work. A guy like him wasn't bound to be very interested reinforcements and notebooks when a bundle of estrogen was only feet away, so I stubbornly ignored his sideways glances at me. I pretended that the toys were much more interesting than the incredibly hot boy, who, strangely enough, looked like the living incarnation of winter himself.

"Are you needing any help?" Wendy's soft voice appeared out of nowhere, over my shoulder.

I jumped, but after a loose breath, I flashed her my dimples. "Nah, just a customer, but he's just browsing."

"A customer? Did he leave?"

"Um, no." I looked up at her, hoisting a thumb over my shoulder. "He's over there, in the doll aisle."

Wendy's eyes dropped to me worriedly. "There's no one there."

"Yes. There is." I turned to look at him, and he swivelled his head at the same time to send me a wicked grin.

"Willow. The aisle is empty." She sounded stern, which I knew was Wendy-ese for concern.

"Is it…" My voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes." I hardly listened to her as I glanced back to the aisle, but there was no one there. No mess of white hair, no wooden staff poking up above the shelves of daybooks. Just a rush of cold air. "Willow, you're working yourself to death. Maybe you should take the evening off."

"I'm fine," I grumbled, pinching the bridge of my nose, as pain blossomed from behind my eyes. "I'm not insane."

"That's debatable." She half smiled. It wasn't a sharp smile, something I could cut myself on, like the boy's, just a small one, like a friend advising a friend. "You're overtired. Maybe you should get home, you know, spend some time with your family."

"It's fine," I repeated quickly. Maybe too quickly, because she stopped talking as she took in a breath to speak. She held it there for a few seconds before finishing. "Go home. For God's sake, you bought me coffee today, let me repay you by stocking things up today, okay?"

I sighed. I needed every penny I could for tuition, but I figured the extra few hours of sleep would be nice. "Okay."

"There. Go get your stuff on."

Obediently, I went into the back to grab the contents of my locker. As I headed out the door, I called, "Thanks, guys!" With one sweeping glance around the store for the boy, trying to keep my heart beating normally when I realized he was gone, I pushed open the door.

This is way too weird. Maybe something's wrong with me. Maybe Social Services should put me into an insane asylum.

"Hey, wait a minute, Willow," Murray's voice stopped me in the middle of the doorway. The bell rang persistently above my head. I tried not to groan when he strode toward me, long legs swinging through the aisles. "It's way too cold out there to walk. How far away do you live?"

I shrugged, tugging Oswald over my ears. His stern "I'm the boss" glare broke me, though, so I mumbled, "Garrow Crescent."

"I'm getting my coat."

"Honestly, Murray, it's fine -"

"What was that? You normally get home by nine?" His dry joke made me nod my head to Wendy, mocking a "hardy-har" in her direction.

Thing is, I don't like to get too cozy anywhere I go. Murray didn't know anything about my family, other than my surname (which I kept as Inkpen, since changing my last name every time I changed cities would make me basically identity-less), and I made sure that I was clear from the moment he hired me: I didn't expect a raise, or increased hours. Nothing more than what I had now. He didn't even know what my money was spent on - other than coffee, that is.

Truth was, it was all going into a sock I kept buried in my backpack. Every cheque I cashed, every piece of change kids at school repaid me, it all was in there. I knew it wasn't even close enough to pay for tuition for a semester at a community college, let alone a high-class university, but it was all I had. The hope that someday, I could make something out of my own life, instead of adults pretending like they knew better.

When Murray pulled up to my house, I tentatively peered out my window, hoping for no sounds of smashing glass or cracked panes. But there was nothing. Just Emmett's light was on.

"Thanks, Murray," I said, popping the handle of his stuffy car.

"You want me to walk you up?" he asked, ducking to get a better view through the open door.

I shook my head. "It's all good. I think everyone must be sleeping. Good night!"

Before he could answer, I closed the door. I followed the knee-deep trench that Emmett and I had formed on our way home from school, and was able to slip my things off without making much of a mess, or a racket. Sliding up the stairs and down the hall to Emmett's room, I pulled my hair out of the braid I'd shoved it into. I drummed my fingers along the doorframe. Two solid raps came from the doorknob, so I knew I could go in. This was a system we came up with after Jason came out to scream about Emmett's room being across from his - "fucking kid won't shut the fuck up" - and it seemed to work pretty well.

Emmett's TV was still turned on, blaring the plain grey menu of the paused Minecraft game. I made sure to close the door behind me as softly as possible before dropping onto his twin sized bed. I felt bad, sitting on that ratty old Toy Story comforter. I was giving Buzz Lightyear a killer view.

God, could boxer shorts be any more adorable? I mean that in a totally non-perverted way, but sheesh. Emmett in his oversized white T-shirt and little heart-covered boxers, with crazy hair from sweating under a toque all day, and goofy grin sliding across his face easily as I entered the room - he was the exact depiction of cute.

"How's the game going?" I asked in a hushed whisper.

"I'm whooping everyone else," he stated in his matter-of-factly kid tone. "How was work? You're home early. You haven't been bagged, have you?"

I blinked at him. Then the automatic Emmett-to-English translation tool in my head kicked in. "No, I haven't been sacked," I murmured with a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, that's it." He smiled, plopping down next to me on his squeaky mattress.

"Wendy said I needed a night off."

"Oh. Cool." He gasped in a burst of an idea. "You could come outside and play with me!" he nearly squealed, until I held a finger to my lips. The screeches stopped, but he still wiggled around like he had to pee, staring up at me with a hopeful light behind those baby browns.

"I would, if it wasn't booger-freezing weather. And if you hadn't noticed, it's pitch black out there, bud," I added, trying to ignore the pooling guilt in the bottom of my gut as he slumped his shoulders, "and I'm pooped. I need some power sleep. You know, recharge my batteries."

"I guess all robots need recharging," Emmett said slowly, face shining again as he looked up at me, like I was the awesomest robot that had ever short-circuited.

Which, today, I think I did.

"Whatever you say, dude. I'm going to have a bath, but I'll be up to tuck you in by bedtime."

"Kay." He tried to crack his knuckles menacingly, but no noise popped from his hands. "I'm not done with these weaklings yet."

"Don't kick their butts too hard. You don't want to make too many enemies."

He was already absorbed in the pixel land he'd created, the usual cowlick reaching high into the air, by the time I shut the door behind me gently.