The grounds were white when I woke up.
I knew before I looked. The particular quality of the light coming through the curtains, brighter than ordinary morning light, the reflected brightness of snow doing what snow did to the world, making everything more visible and quieter at the same time.
I lay still for a moment.
Damon's arm was around my waist.
I had been waking up like this for three weeks now, and it had not stopped feeling like something to notice. Not in the dramatic way of the first morning. In the quiet way of something that was becoming the texture of ordinary life, the good ordinary that you did not take for granted because you knew what it cost.
I did not take it for granted.
I never thought I would.
"The snow settled," he said. Still half asleep.
"I know," I said.
