Unlike the rest of my fellow townsfolk, I kept my curtains drawn. Even now, as I approached the one-year mark of my move out to the valley, I couldn't make myself comfortable with the idea of having the curtains flung aside and my windows exposed. As I lay in bed the next morning, I wondered what other differences marked me for what I was – city slicker, urbanite, ex-software developer.

Dragging myself out of bed, I stumbled over to my bedroom window and pulled the curtains open. A pale, tepid light streamed in and over me, drowning what fatigue remained in me. Not quite understanding the sight before me, I gaped.

The world outside was draped in white. Small flakes of snow filtered down, twirling in the wind. My entire field was covered, and as I squinted out at where my crops had been, I realized that they had all died in the frost of last night. I shook my head, thankful that I hadn't planted anything new yesterday.

Folding myself into warm clothes, I hurried to the front door and threw myself outside. My breath caught as I took in the snow-capped trees, the little pillars of powder atop each fence post. I looked out towards town and reveled in the fact that no one had cleared a path through the snow yet and so from here straight through to town, the snow lay pure and untouched. It truly was a winter wonderland. My boots crunched as they sank into the fresh snow, and as I tilted my head back to watch the flakes flutter down, a particularly large one landed in my eye.

"Gee," I muttered, but even that errant snowflake couldn't quell my mood.

With a clack of his claws against the front porch, Dog scrambled out of the house and barked as he stumbled into the snow. I saw his gaze go cross-eyed as he watched a flake land on his black button nose. A laugh tore out of me and I spun in a circle, relishing the cold that snapped at my clothes and skin.

Without crops to tend to, I was left with an unforeseen conundrum: what was I going to do with all of my free time? The obvious answer was to get on with the rest of my chores, so I shut the front door behind me and made my way to the barn and coop.

"It's too cold to go outside," I said as I took in the plaintive stares of my chickens. One clucked rather disparagingly, but I could only offer a shrug as I left the coop without opening the door to the yard.

My land felt new again as I looked out at the endless white. I had become so familiar with every nook and cranny of it, but now, the snowscape offered up a new environment that demanded exploration.

As I plodded through the snow, I let my thoughts wander.

I had been out here for almost a full year now, and in retrospect, it had been a year of ups and downs.

"More ups than downs, though," I said aloud, thinking of a particular dark-eyed gaze.

Stepping past the rundown greenhouse, I squeezed between two pine trees and came upon a familiar sight: Grandpa's shrine.

It had been weeks since I had visited it, and I dug into my jeans pocket now to pull out the note that I had managed to always keep with me. The paper was soft and worn, its texture akin to silk. Mom and I had first found the note when we'd first scoped out the land before I had moved in. Neither of us had known who had left it there for grandpa, but we had both recognized his handwriting.

I didn't need to look at the note to remember what it said.

Stuffing the note back into my pocket, I dropped to my knees and slid my backpack off my shoulders. It fell unceremoniously into the snow with a soft whump.

For a moment, I just knelt there, looking up at the shrine. There was an undeniable aura of peace emanating from it, undercut by an unmistakable sense of being watched.

I rummaged around in my backpack until my fingers slipped against the thing I had stowed in here weeks ago. Being careful not to damage it, I took the fairy rose out of the shelter of my bag and placed it on the altar. The fairy rose – grandpa's favourite flower. As I got to my feet, I remembered the autumnal nights, ripe with the heady scent of harvest, when I would be out here visiting grandpa and he would tell me stories about fairies and elves, junimos and sprites.

"Some fairies are especially concerned with farming," he had said with a stroke of his beard, and then proceeded to tell me one of his many bedtime stories. Fairy roses were supposed to bring fairies, lure them, and tempt them into our world. I had never seen one myself, but the one year grandpa had grown a giant pumpkin, he had claimed it had been a fairy who was responsible.

As I looked down at the fairy rose I had lain down, a sob choked my throat and I bit my lower lip.

"I miss you, grandpa," I whispered, my voice cracking on the last syllable. A single tear slid its way down my cheek. It was probably a trick of the mind, but I could have sworn that the fairy rose had waved a leaf at me. "I'll do you proud, gramps," I murmured and turned away.

Swiping at the rest of the tears threatening to fall, I took a deep breath.

That was the worst part about winter – it was the season when I had lost my grandpa. The loss of him filled my lungs as I sucked in my next breath, and it was there in the heaviness of my boots as they sank in the snow.

I thought that I had moved on, but maybe it was never really possible to move on from the death of a loved one. It was clear that moping was not the way to go about honouring my grandpa's memory. Turning my back on the altar, I bit my trembling lip. The best thing I could do to honour him would be to live a full life.

How hard can that be? I asked myself dryly.

It was late enough in the day now that Sebastian would be up, and, I realized, it wouldn't be a bad idea to hit the mines for some ore afterwards. With my mind still full of thoughts, I took the mountain path away from my farm.

"Hi, Robin," I said as I entered the shop.

She waved in greeting and flashed me a warm smile. "Enjoying the snow?"

I was startled out of my thoughts. "Y-yes, I am, actually."

"I'm somehow not surprised." She leaned forward on the counter, her elbows resting on the wood. "I'm guessing you're here to see Sebastian?"

Nodding, I couldn't hide the burn in my cheeks.
Her smile widened. "You know where he is."

I nodded again as I turned and went down the hall.

With a light sigh, I pushed open the door to his room. "Hey," I breathed, my gaze locking on the dark figure seated in a corner, behind the computers.

"Hi," he replied, looking up from his computer screen with a slight blush. I could see that he was grinning.

"Aww, look at you. You're actually grinning," I teased, as I slipped off my jacket and took another step further into the room. "Now why's that?"

"Why am I grinning?" he echoed, but his smile only deepened. "I guess I've been unusually happy lately." He quirked an eyebrow at me. "I could ask the same of you, actually."

I couldn't contain myself. "It's snowing," I said, trying to be nonchalant, but failing miserably.

He nodded. "Yeah, it's finally nice and cold."

"Agreed."

Raising an eyebrow he pushed himself up out of his chair. "You like the cold?" He stretched and let out a yawn.

"I mean, I don't mind it. It's way better to be too cold than too hot, plus it's snowing, Sebastian. It's snowing."

A chuckle escaped him as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Doesn't it snow in the city?"

"Yeah, it does, but not like this." I crossed the distance between us and slipped my arms around him, vaguely surprised by my own boldness. "It always gets really gross and dirty in the city. The snow here is so pristine."

"Oh believe me, it will get gross and dirty here, too. But I see what you mean. There are some parts here that will stay clean where people don't go." His arms wound around me in return and we embraced, his chin resting against my forehead. "Most people get sick of the snow really quickly."

I breathed a sigh as we pulled out of our embrace. "Well, not me. I love the stuff."

"So you say now." With a smirk he leaned closer and his lips – light and feather soft – pressed for a moment against my forehead.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, the act had caught me off guard. "S-sure," I stammered.

He snickered and his fingers caught mine as he returned to his chair, tugging me along after him. "So I guess you're over here because you don't have any seeds to plant."

I shook my head vigorously, a poor attempt to hide my reddening face. "No seeds, no plants, no crops," I shrugged, "But it's alright. There's still plenty I can do to make money." I paused, catching a breath. "So how is your stuff going? I know we just saw each other yesterday, but, well..." I trailed off, my thoughts returning to Abigail and the guilt still bubbling in the pit of my stomach.

He chewed the inside of his lip as he thought, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. "Well, I've picked up another contract. I can't say too much about what I'm working on, but it's a dashboard of sorts."

I nodded as I lowered myself into his other computer chair, our hands still joined in the space between us. "That's cool."

Silence threaded between us for a moment and I thought he might have gotten distracted until he took an audible breath. "And I don't think I've mentioned it to you, but I've started reading a book about a farmer." It was his turn to flush now. "It reminded me of you, actually." He cleared his throat. "I thought it'd be neat to learn more about what you do."

I stared at him, but managed to catch myself before it became too rude. "I—oh wow, I'm touched, really," I sputtered. "It's not even that interesting," I said with a small laugh.

He shrugged and our hands broke apart as he began to type on his keyboard. "It's interesting to me. I want to know more about your world, since you already know about mine. And I don't know, maybe one day I could help you – you know, if you needed it." He stopped typing suddenly and turned his monitor towards me. "Look, I've even started a spreadsheet of chores and tasks. I've got your animals on here and I have some formulas set up to calculate your monthly profit based on production."

I was speechless as I took in the spreadsheet of numbers before me. The data was accurate, and I couldn't help but be impressed by what he'd put together. Looking from the screen to him, my mouth hung open and I blinked rapidly. His expression was somewhere between shy and forced coolness, but his flushed cheeks gave him away.

"Sebastian," I managed with some difficulty, "you put a lot of thought into all of this. Do you – have you ever considered becoming a farmer?"

"Could you picture me living on a farm?" There was a haughtiness behind the question, a false indignation. I eyed him carefully, and it was under my steady gaze that his mask slipped and he faltered. He turned away as he spoke. "It seems ridiculous, but I have been thinking about it lately."

"Well," I said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "I would fully support you if you did. I mean, it's not easy, and there's a lot you can't just learn from a book."

"I'm aware of that," he nodded stiffly. "I thought you'd be pleased."

My eyebrows shot up. "Don't get me wrong," I said, frowning. "I'm really excited that you're interested in farming. It means a lot to me that you've done all this research and planning and just thinking about it. To me, it proves that you care about me and my life." I paused. "I'm just surprised, I guess."

"Well, don't be," he replied, and I sensed a flare of anger. But as quickly as it had come, it left, and his shoulders slumped. "I just," he began, but stumbled into silence.

"Hey," I said softly, and tried to catch his falling gaze. "It's fine. Like I said, I'm touched that you care so much. And I think it's really cool what you did with that spreadsheet. It'll be helpful for figuring out budgeting."

He nodded sullenly and opened his mouth. It took a moment before any words registered on his tongue. "I just need you to know how much you mean to me, and that I want to be a part of your world."

My heart throbbed in my chest and I had the sudden urge to fling my arms around his neck and kiss him. But we hadn't advanced beyond hugging, so I kept my hands to myself. I forced a smile as I bit the inside of my lip and, instinctively, my hands balled into fists. I had to respect his boundaries.

"Oh, Sebastian," I breathed, "you are my world. Farming is just something I do. I could be doing something else, anything else, but that wouldn't change how you shape my life."

Tilting his chin to look up at me, he cast a shy glance my way. "I'm glad to hear it."

"And don't you forget it," I said happily.

He smiled in full. "Alright, I'll try."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "That'd better be a promise."

"Of course," he murmured, and his dark eyes brimmed with cautious fire as he sighed, "I should get back to work."

I bowed my head. "Sure," I said curtly. "And I've got some mining to do."