Snowfall
Skye hated cold. She was a California girl, after all, accustomed to sunlight and palm trees, not to icicles and below zeros – no matter how romantic and idyllic the untouched, virgin snow seemed.
So when Grant said that he'd like to take her out that day – and for him, out meant out –, she wasn't all for the idea. But then it was Grant asking her, and the thing – the unlabeled, unexplored thing – between them was still new and exciting, so she agreed.
And he made her forget that she hated cold.
They were staying in Wien – Fitz and Simmons were attending some kind of symposium –, and he took her to downtown, into an actual Winter Wonderland – to the Christmas fair.
She didn't even know where to look – there was so much to see, from the little vendors selling everything imaginable to the lights and the people and the food and… everything.
"I've wanted to come here for some time," he told her, handing her a mug of mulled wine, "but never had a reason before. Or the right company."
She smiled into her drink.
"And now you have?" she asked, taking a sip. The wine was sweet, and stronger than she'd have thought.
He reached for her glove-clad hand.
"The best I could ask for."
And then he leaned in and kissed her, just as the snow began to fall.
Suddenly, she didn't mind the cold at all.
