The first time you told Rafe about your perfect night—running along the beach while it snowed—he laughed. “Snow in Kildare? Keep dreaming”And he was right. It almost never happened. But on the rare occasion that it did, you made sure to savor every second.

Tonight, as you lie beside him in the dimly lit bedroom, the only glow coming from the LED clock and the moon outside, you trace soft shapes on his chest, your gaze drifting toward the frost-kissed window. The house is quiet—his family asleep in the rooms next to you, having invited you both to spend Christmas at their empty summer beach house.

Then, you see it.

At first, just a few drifting flakes. Then more, swirling thickly through the air. Your breath catches, excitement surging through you as you jolt upright.

“Rafe!” you whisper-shout, shaking his arm. “It’s snowing! We’re at the beach house, and it’s actually snowing!”

He groans, rubbing his face. “Okay, okay—Jesus, put some clothes on.”

You scramble out of bed, grabbing the warmest things you can find. By the time you tug your boots on, he’s up too, sleepily pulling on a hoodie before you drag him outside.

The second you step onto the sand, the cold nips at your cheeks, the snowflakes melting instantly against your skin. The beach, usually golden and sun-soaked, is slowly being blanketed in white, turning it into something out of a dream. Your grin stretches wide as you tilt your head back, breathless with wonder.

Before he can protest, you pull him down onto the snowy sand, landing on top of him with a laugh. His hands settle on your waist, his sleepy annoyance fading into something softer as he looks up at you.

“You’ve got something on your nose,” he murmurs. Then, before you can respond, he leans in, brushing a kiss over the tip of your nose, stealing away a tiny speck of snow.