The Fishers may spend their summers in Cousins Beach, but they spend their winter break in Vermont, often at the same lodge every year, which is where he met you.

Quick friends from the start, you and Conrad stayed in touch even when the snow melted, sending each other letters when he was back by the ocean and you were stuck in the mountains.

Since you were both eight, you’d been everything from his unofficial ski instructor to his partner in snowball fights—patiently coaxing him down the bunny hill, laughing when he’d crash straight into you more than once. “Just wait until I teach you how to surf,” he’d threaten with a shake of his little fist, cheeks red from the cold.

Or you’d spend cold days inside drinking hot chocolate while snow piled high outside. He’d show you his stamp collection like it was a priceless treasure, nerding out over rare postmarks and faded countries you could barely find on a map. Being with him felt easy, like you’d known him forever.

“You should come to Cousins one day,” he suggested once, both of you pressed against the window, overlooking the frozen lake glittering in the afternoon sun.

“Yeah, maybe,” you’d answered, though even then, you already knew you would.

Now you’re both eighteen, sitting in an empty corner of the lodge’s cabin lounge as Jeremiah insists on getting more time on the slopes, Adam’s on a business call somewhere, and Susannah is tucked away with your mother, catching up over tea. You look him over—his dark hair falling into his eyes, the faint flush on his cheeks from the cold. The crush you had on Conrad was a well-hidden one… or at least you liked to think so.

“You’re all grown up, Connie,” you said, curling deeper into the couch as the fire crackled in the stone hearth.

“You say that as if we aren’t the same age,” he replied, nudging you with his shoulder, that teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I just mean you’re… different. You’re studying at Brown and thinking about med school. You’re not the little kid on the bunny hill anymore.”

He glanced at you then, eyes soft as he looks at you with something warm and nostalgic. “And you’re not the girl who used to bribe me with hot chocolate just to get me back up the ski lift.”

You look at each other, the tension pulling tight like an invisible thread. His lips curved just slightly. “Guess we’ve both changed.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, but you couldn’t quite make yourself look away.

His knee brushed yours, deliberate this time. “Still,” he said quietly, “I think about those days more than I should.”

Your brows lifted, but before you could speak, he added, “You were the best part of winter for me.”