It started with a faint fluttering outside the window—tiny white specks dancing in the breeze like little scraps of paper set free. I was the first to notice, my breath catching as I stared at the unfamiliar sight. For a moment, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

"Mrs. Blake!" I called, louder than I intended. My heart was racing, and I wasn't sure why. "It's snowing!"

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor followed as Sam and Lily rushed to the window, their excitement filling the room like a warm current.

"Snow!" Lily squealed, pressing her hands and nose against the glass, leaving little smudges in her wake. "It's really snowing!"

"It's about time," Sam added, grinning from ear to ear. "I was starting to think we'd never get any this year."

Mrs. Blake appeared in the doorway, her smile soft and amused as she watched us. "The forecast did say we'd get a little flurry today," she said, folding her arms. "Looks like they were right for once."

I couldn't take my eyes off the snow, mesmerized by the way it twirled and floated gently to the ground, as if it had all the time in the world. The world outside the window transformed with every passing second, the drab brown of the earth and the brittle gray of the bare trees gradually softening under a delicate white veil. I pressed my hand against the cold windowpane, feeling an inexplicable ache in my chest.

"I've never seen snow before," I admitted, my voice quieter now.

Sam turned to me, his eyebrows shooting up so high I thought they might vanish into his hairline. "Never? Like, not even a little bit?"

I shook my head, my cheeks warming. "Not in South Georgia. Folkston gets hot summers and rainy winters, but snow? That's like waiting for hens to grow teeth."

Lily gasped, grabbing my arm and bouncing in place like a wind-up toy. "Then we have to go outside! You have to see it up close!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself grinning despite the fluttering in my stomach.

Mrs. Blake chuckled, already heading toward the coat rack by the door. "Let's bundle up first," she said, pulling scarves and gloves from the hooks with practiced efficiency. "It's cold out there, and I don't want anyone catching a chill. Especially you, Emily—you're not used to this kind of weather."

As we wrapped ourselves in layers, I felt a sense of wonder creeping over me. Back home in Folkston, we never worried about snow. Winters there meant damp mornings and muddy boots, not the crisp, cold air that now nipped at my cheeks as we stepped outside.

The first step onto the snow was like stepping into another world. My boots sank slightly into the soft powder, leaving crisp impressions behind me. It wasn't like I imagined—soft and fluffy like cotton. It was colder, sharper, and when I scooped some into my hands, it melted almost immediately, leaving my palms damp and chilled.

"It's amazing," I whispered, looking around as the flakes continued to fall, each one unique and glittering in the pale winter light.

Sam grinned, bending down to pack a snowball in his gloved hands. "You better watch out," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. "First-timers like you are prime targets."

I yelped as the snowball sailed past me, missing by inches. Lily squealed with laughter and grabbed a handful of snow, retaliating with a poorly aimed throw that hit Sam square in the shoulder.

"Hey!" Sam laughed, brushing off the snow. "I'm the one teaching Emily, not you!"

Mrs. Blake watched from the porch, her hands tucked into her coat pockets and a fond smile on her face. "Don't get too wild, you three. And Emily, be careful—you'll feel the cold before long if you're not used to it."

But I barely heard her. For the first time, I didn't care about the cold or the damp seeping into my gloves. For the first time, I felt like I was part of something magical, something I'd only read about in books or seen in movies. Back in Folkston, my world had been filled with sun-dappled forests, muddy rivers, and the hum of cicadas in the summer heat. But here, with snow falling all around me, it was like stepping into a dream I didn't want to wake up from.

"I wish Mama and Papa could see this," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.

As Sam and Lily resumed their snowball fight, I stood in the middle of the yard, letting the snowflakes land on my face. They melted almost as soon as they touched my skin, but for a fleeting moment, they felt like little kisses from the sky.

Back inside, we peeled off our wet coats and boots, piling them near the door in a messy heap. The warmth of the house enveloped me like a hug, the air smelling faintly of cinnamon and wood smoke. My cheeks and fingers tingled as they adjusted to the sudden change in temperature. Mrs. Blake ushered us into the living room, where a fire crackled in the hearth, casting a golden glow across the room.

"Hot cocoa, everyone?" she asked, her voice cheerful as she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Yes, please!" Lily and Sam chorused, flopping onto the couch with damp hair and red noses. I followed more slowly, still feeling the traces of snow on my skin like a phantom touch.

Mrs. Blake returned with a tray of steaming mugs, each topped with a generous mound of marshmallows. She handed one to me, the warmth of the ceramic soothing against my cold fingers. I took a cautious sip, the rich, velvety chocolate flooding my senses. It was the perfect antidote to the chill that had seeped into my bones.

"So, Emily," Lily said, her eyes bright as she cradled her mug. "What do you think of your first snow?"

I hesitated, searching for the right words. The day had felt so surreal, like stepping into one of those storybooks Mama used to read to me when I was little. "It's amazing," I said finally, a soft smile spreading across my face. "It feels like... like Christmas."

"True," Mrs. Blake said, her eyes twinkling as she sat down in the armchair by the fire. "But there's no rule that says you can't enjoy the magic of snow any time it falls."

As I sipped my cocoa, I let my gaze wander around the room. The firelight flickered across the faces of the Blake family, highlighting the warmth and ease they seemed to carry with them. Sam was stretched out on the rug, poking at his marshmallows with a spoon, while Lily leaned against the couch, humming to herself. It was a simple moment, yet it felt extraordinary—like I was being wrapped in more than just the warmth of the fire.

Dinner preparation began not long after, heralded by the cheerful clatter of pots and pans. Mrs. Blake moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, pulling ingredients from the fridge and lining them up on the counter. She glanced over her shoulder at me, her smile as warm as the fire in the living room.

"Emily, do you want to help tonight?" she asked.

I hesitated, glancing toward the window where Lily and Sam were bundling up again to head back outside. Their muffled voices were full of excitement as they planned snow forts and snow angels, their energy seemingly endless. My cheeks still stung faintly from our earlier adventure, and the cozy warmth of the kitchen was far more inviting.

"Sure," I said, stepping toward the counter.

Mrs. Blake handed me a cutting board and a small pile of vegetables. "We're making stew tonight," she explained. "Nice and hearty for a snowy day."

I nodded, settling into the task as she placed a knife in my hand. "Start with the carrots and celery," she said. "Just nice, even slices."

I worked carefully, the knife making a soft thwack against the cutting board with each slice. Mrs. Blake moved beside me, stirring a pot on the stove that already smelled heavenly. The rich aroma of simmering broth filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of the onions she had diced earlier.

"You're doing great," she said encouragingly when I finished the first pile of vegetables. She passed me an onion next, showing me how to cut it properly. I tried to mimic her movements, though I winced as my eyes began to water from the sharp fumes.

Mrs. Blake chuckled gently, handing me a dish towel to dab my eyes. "Onions always win the battle," she said with a grin. "But they're worth it in the end."

I couldn't help but laugh a little at that, blinking away the sting. As I returned to slicing, I noticed something unexpected—a calmness settling over me. The steady rhythm of chopping, the hum of the stove, and the soft crackle of the fire in the next room created a kind of peaceful harmony. It wasn't something I'd ever paid attention to before, but I found myself enjoying the simple act of preparing food.

"Cooking is one of my favorite ways to wind down," Mrs. Blake said as she added the vegetables to the pot, stirring them in with care. "There's something calming about it, don't you think?"

"Yeah," I said softly, surprised by how much I meant it.

Outside, Lily and Sam's laughter echoed faintly through the frosted windows, their voices rising and falling like the playful wind that swirled the snow around them. Occasionally, they would bang on the glass, their faces pressed against the panes, eager to show off their snow creations. One time, Lily's muffled shout came through loud and clear: "Look! A snow dog!"

Mrs. Blake and I exchanged amused glances before stepping closer to the window. The "snow dog" was a lumpy figure with sticks for ears, a twig tail, and pebble eyes. It leaned precariously to one side, but Lily's wide grin beamed with pride as she stood next to it.

"Impressive," Mrs. Blake called through the window, giving her a thumbs-up.

"What's that?" I pointed between its legs.

"His weenie," she giggled, then dove back into the snow.

"Lily!" Mrs. Blake scolded.

I looked at Sam. He was already working on a new project beside her.

By the time dinner was ready, Lily and Sam burst back into the house, their cheeks flushed and their noses bright pink from the cold. They shed their damp snow gear in a chaotic heap near the door, shivering as they shuffled toward the heater. Their clothes smelled faintly of the icy air, a crisp and clean scent that clung to the house.

Mrs. Blake ladled steaming bowls of stew for everyone, the hearty aroma filling the room and drawing us all to the table. Sam dug in first, barely blowing on his spoonful.

"You really helped with this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he chewed. His tone was skeptical but playful, his grin teasing.

"I did," I said, lifting my chin in mock indignation. "What, you don't think I can cook?"

"It's actually good," he admitted, still grinning. "Surprisingly."

"Thanks for the compliment... I think," I said with a smirk, which earned a laugh from Mrs. Blake.

Dinner was filled with lively chatter about their snow adventures. Sam launched into a detailed recounting of a snowball trick shot he claimed was nothing short of legendary. Lily interrupted every few minutes, rolling her eyes and insisting her snow dog was the true highlight of the day, although, she ended up turning the dog into a girl dog. Their good-natured bickering kept everyone laughing, and even I found myself joining in now and then.

I mostly listened, though, smiling at their antics and soaking in the warmth of it all. There was something comforting about the way they interacted—so natural and full of life. As the conversation swirled around me, I felt a little pang in my chest. This—this sense of belonging—was something I hadn't realized I'd been missing.

After the meal, as the others lingered over their bowls, I surprised even myself by offering to help with the dishes.

Mrs. Blake, mid-sentence, paused and turned to me with raised eyebrows. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice kind but clearly surprised.

"Yeah," I said, shrugging. "It's the least I can do."

Lily and Sam froze mid-bite, their jaws dropping as if I'd just volunteered to climb a mountain.

"Wow," Sam said with mock astonishment. "Emily's actually doing chores willingly? Someone write this down."

"Don't scare her off," Mrs. Blake said with a laugh, tossing a towel in my direction. "She might change her mind."

I rolled my eyes at Sam and followed Mrs. Blake to the sink. As I rinsed plates, she dried them, her movements quick and practiced. For a few moments, the kitchen was quiet, save for the running water and the faint clinking of dishes.

"You've settled in well," Mrs. Blake said eventually, her voice soft. "It's been nice having you here."

I glanced at her, unsure how to respond. "It's nice being here," I said honestly. "It's... different, but in a good way."

Mrs. Blake smiled. "Different how?"

I hesitated, focusing on the plate in my hands. "Well, back in Folkston, we always ate together, just like here. Mama would make something delicious, and we'd all sit around the table. There was a lot of laughing, and Papa would tell stories about his day at work. But... we always prayed before meals. Every single time."

Mrs. Blake tilted her head. "And you didn't like that?"

I shook my head, trying to put my feelings into words. "I don't know. It wasn't bad, really. It's just... they were serious about it. We had to bow our heads and say the words just right. Sometimes, it felt like we spent more time on the praying than the eating."

Mrs. Blake chuckled softly. "I can see how that might feel a little strict, especially for a kid."

I smiled faintly, setting another plate in the drying rack. "It wasn't all bad, though. After dinner, Mama and I would clean up together while Papa sat on the porch, whittling or just listening to the crickets. It was fun. Simple. But I guess I didn't appreciate it as much as I should've back then."

Mrs. Blake paused, resting the towel on the counter. "That sounds like a lovely childhood, Emily."

"It was," I admitted quietly. "But here, it's... different. You don't pray before meals, but you still have this... warmth, you know? It's like everything is easier, more relaxed."

She smiled at me, her expression thoughtful. "Every family is different. What's important is that you feel like you belong, wherever you are."

I nodded, my throat tightening a little. "I do. I really do."

She reached out, squeezing my shoulder gently. "You belong here, Emily. And you're always welcome."

The warmth in her voice made my chest ache in the best way. I swallowed hard, turning back to the sink. "Thanks," I said quietly.

Mrs. Blake smiled again and returned to drying the dishes. We worked in companionable silence, the conversation lingering in the air like the soft hum of the heater. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in quiet, peaceful white.