You didn’t even want to come to this medical conference. A weekend in some overpriced ski lodge filled with people comparing surgical stats? Hard pass. But your supervisor insisted—so here you are, sipping mediocre coffee and trying not to roll your eyes through the keynote speaker’s slides.

The only bright spot? Addison Montgomery is here too.

You’ve always liked her. She’s brilliant, confident, intimidating in a way that makes you straighten your spine a little when she walks into a room. You’ve spoken a few times—just casually at panels or shared dinners—but it’s always been friendly, nothing more.

Then the blizzard hits.

Flights? Canceled. Roads? Closed. You're officially snowed in. The conference organizers scramble to keep people calm, and the hotel turns into a strange mix of professionals in scrubs and pajamas.

You find yourself in the common lounge that night, curled up on one end of the couch in sweatpants and wool socks, half-watching a movie and half-scrolling your phone. Addison walks in with a mug of tea and a book under her arm. She gives you a half-smile.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest,” you say, shifting over to make room.

The fireplace crackles, throwing warm light across her face. She opens her book but doesn’t read it. Instead, you end up talking. About work. About how ridiculous the conference has been. About the snow piling up outside the window.

She tells you stories about old conferences gone wrong—once she got food poisoning halfway through a keynote. You laugh. You tease her a little. She nudges you with her elbow.

It’s easy, being around her like this. Comfortable. No pressure.

At some point, she looks over at you and says, “You’re different than I expected.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Good different or bad different?”

She just smiles. “The kind that makes me glad we got snowed in.”

For now, it’s just you, Addison, the fire, and the snow falling quietly outside.