Chapter 1
Snow has always been a cruel little bastard to Rio. It never meant magic, not like it did for other kids. No coziness. No Christmas postcard-pretty charm. To her, it was only weight. A sad memory. A ghost that settled over everything in white and called itself peaceful.
It was snowing the night her mom walked out. Rio still remembers the way the cold crept under the doorframe, how her little toes curled against the floorboards as she stood by the window and watched it all happen: watched her own mom, dressed too nicely for their part of town, dragging a suitcase down their icy driveway. A black luxury car was waiting at the curb. The man behind the wheel was old and rich. Not Rio’s father.
Her mother didn’t even say goodbye. Just stepped inside, pulled the car door shut, and disappeared into a new life. And just like that, Rio never saw her again.
Two years after that, right before Christmas, snow fell heavily again, her dad died too. Alone in his chair, half a cigarette burnt to ash between his fingers. Years of chain-smoking, alcohol, drugs, maybe even worse; and just like that, winter had finally finished the job it started.
From that point on, the cold season became a cycle of borrowed spaces for Rio. Foster homes that never felt like hers, bedrooms that smelled like strangers’ fabric softener, and other people’s Christmas lights blinking through frosted windows.
Eventually, she got old enough to live on her own, and that’s when the real survival started. Rio learned how to keep warm with a radiator and a coffee pot that barely worked.
She had opened a flower shop in a small town called Westview, New Jersey. Built it from the ground up with nothing but grit and a handful of dreams. She learned the ropes and figured out how to make it work. But like any business, there came a season where everything slowed to a crawl. So, as the temperature dropped, so did her sales. Business turned sluggish, barely enough to keep the lights on, because, of course, flowers never bloomed in snow.
They wilt. They freeze. They die under the weight of winter.
So, yeah. Rio really did hate the cold.
But then came Agatha.
Agatha, who is color and chaos and warmth. Who finds joy in everything Rio had long written off as childish, stupid, or even painful. And of course, because the universe had a wicked sense of humor, Agatha, her wife, the love of her life, absolutely adores the snow.
She has this absurd habit of forcing Rio into scarves and gloves, and dragging her outside into the freezing streets, and gasping at snowfall like it was the first time, every time.
Maybe that’s just Rio’s luck, marrying one of New York’s up-and-coming sculptors. Well, up-and-coming for now, since Rio’s pretty convinced her wife’s going to be one of the sought-after ones soon enough. All creative and sentimental, with an artist’s heart to match. And, to be honest, Rio can hardly complain.
Most people are terrified of Agatha, but with Rio, her wife completely lets her guard down. Agatha only shows that side of herself when she’s with her. The kind of sweetness and vulnerability that’s just for her. So, Rio doesn’t mind if her wife loves the fucking snow.
Which is why, on a night like this, when the whole city is tucked under a thick blanket of said snow, piling up on the tires of parked cars, and more flakes falling from the sky like confetti, Rio finds herself stepping out of the theater with frozen eyelashes and damp boots.
Rio’s about to mumble something under her breath when she hears the soft intake of breath beside her. “Oh, baby, look,” Agatha says. Rio turns to see her wife standing there, cheeks pink from the cold, sea-colored eyes glowing under the streetlamp. There are flakes in her hair, tiny stars caught in dark waves, and she’s smiling like the world just showed her something only she could ever truly see.
“It was barely snowing when we went in,” Rio grumbles, eyeing the street now buried in white.
Agatha doesn’t acknowledge the complaint. She just smiles and says, “It’s beautiful.”
Then, out of nowhere, she spins, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Her laughter bubbling up like she’s a child again, untouched by any of life’s harder days.
Rio just watches. Well, Agatha did grow up in Scarsdale, surrounded by all the picket fences and perfectly-manicured lawns. Maybe people with that kind of background still see the world through eyes that find wonder in the smallest things. And despite herself, Rio feels the corner of her mouth twitch.
She may not always get why her wife does the things she does, or how their upbringings could be so worlds apart. But every single day, Rio is endlessly grateful that they found each other. Three years together with this beautiful, frustrating idiot of a woman have been the happiest of her life. Rio can’t help but smile, thinking of all the winters still ahead of them.
Her wife may love the snow, but to Rio, Agatha will always be the warmth of spring – no matter how long the winter lasts.
Rio snaps out of her thoughts when Agatha stops spinning, looks over her shoulder, and holds out a mittened hand. “C’mon, grumpy! Let’s get out of here before the snow freezes our toes off,” she says, grinning. “By the way, the last one to the car does the cooking for a week!” she calls, already sprinting toward the street.
Rio laughs as Agatha’s own laughter rings through the night. Her wife is already a few steps ahead, boots crunching in the snow, so Rio takes off after her. She’s way faster. She knows that for sure. But she lets Agatha win anyway. After all, her princess of a wife can barely make toast.
Unlike her wife, who walked straight into their beat-up Subaru, Rio grips the snow scraper and starts clearing the windshield, swiping away thick layers of snow that have piled up while they were watching a 2-hour Love Actually marathon in the theater.
When the windshield is clear enough, Rio slams the scraper back into the snowbank, brushing her hands off before sliding into the driver’s seat. Agatha’s already curled up inside, frantically rubbing her hands together in a desperate attempt to warm them. “Fuck. I’m freezing!” she says between shivers. Her cheeks are already turning pink, her nose a little redder than usual.
“Jesus,” Rio groans, blowing on her hands and cupping them around her nose.
Agatha, still rubbing her hands, glanced over at her. “I’m never going outside again. I promise.”
Rio just laughs, buckling her seatbelt. “You said the same thing last year.”
“Yeah, well, this year, I’m really, really serious,” Agatha shoots back. “God, look, I can’t even feel my fingers.” She holds them out toward Rio, and Rio immediately takes her hands in hers, blowing warm air onto her wife’s frozen hands. “Okay, okay, thank you, baby. Now please drive,” Agatha murmurs, her eyes fluttering closed for a second.
Rio kisses her wife’s cold knuckles before turning the key and starting the engine. The car jerks slightly as it pulls into the street, the tires crunching over the snow. They turn a few corners, and Rio eventually reaches for the radio. A familiar song comes on, and she can’t help but start singing along.
Agatha snorts, still rubbing her hands together to warm them, then glances at her. “You pretentious shit,” she says, endearingly. “You don’t even like this song.”
Rio chuckles as she sings along to Billy Joel, turning the volume up just enough to make Agatha laugh harder. “I never said that,” Rio says, grinning. “I actually like Billy Joel. I honestly think he wrote this song for me. How else would he know I’d end up married to an Uptown Girl?”
Agatha rolls her eyes but can’t stop herself from laughing. “God, you’re such a dork,” she mutters, shaking her head. “For Christ’s sake, Rio. You seriously have to turn that off.”
But Rio just keeps belting it out, pretending not to hear her wife’s complaint.
After a few more lines, Agatha gives in with a dramatic sigh and joins her in the chorus, her voice even growing louder than Rio’s as she really gets into it.
The song finishes just as the traffic light turns red. “We should do karaoke with the girls this weekend,” Agatha says, as the car slows to a stop. Karaoke for Agatha also means drinks and a fun, no-holds-barred blunt rotation with their four friends. “We live on the same block, but I hardly see them anymore.”
Rio turns down the volume on the radio and glances over at her, chuckling. “Baby, you’re commuting to New York almost every day for that piece you’re working on for the Guggenheim. That’s a huge fucking deal. I’m pretty sure the whole of Westview understands why we’ve been skipping karaoke nights lately.”
When Agatha doesn’t say anything, Rio glances over at her.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asks softly.
Agatha hesitates, fingers tapping her seatbelt. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “It’s this piece I’m working on. I guess I’m just a little worried about it. What if they don’t like it?”
Rio lets out a laugh, the kind she always does when Agatha says something she finds crazy. “Please. They’d have to be pretty stupid to face the wrath of the brilliant Agatha Harkness,” she quips. But as she turns to her wife, Rio notices that the usual cockiness in her blue eyes is missing. The smile slips from Rio’s lips, replaced by a sudden understanding.
Agatha stares out the window, “I’m just worried it won’t turn out the way I want. What if they don’t see it the way I do? What if the critics hate it? They could ruin my career before it even gets off the ground. And I can’t afford that.”
Rio glances at the traffic light. They still have a minute. She reaches over, gently placing her hand on Agatha’s. “Hey,” she says, nudging her wife to meet her eyes.
“Look, I might not know exactly how you feel right now, but I do know this: you’ve got more than enough talent to fill an entire museum with your work. I’ve watched you pour everything into this, and no handful of assholes is gonna shake my wife’s confidence, alright? And if they don’t see it, that’s on them. It’ll be their loss if they don’t appreciate what you’re capable of.”
Agatha’s eyes soften as she listens.
“And if they do hate it, which, seriously, I highly doubt, we can just pull it out of the museum and stick it in our front yard. God knows our neighborhood could use a little touch-up anyway,” Rio adds, and finally, she gets Agatha to snort. Rio can’t help but smile. Oh, how she could never get tired of hearing that sound.
Agatha laughs until it softens into a warm, loving smile, and Rio catches it, a little thrown off by how sweet it looks. “What?” she asks, trying to cover up the soft rush of warmth.
Agatha’s smile grows. “Nothing,” she says. “Just...you.”
“Just me, what?” Rio presses.
Agatha doesn’t answer right away, letting her smile linger a little longer, “Well,” she drags the word out, drawing it out just to mess with Rio. “I just read somewhere that girls are one hundred percent guaranteed to get pregnant if they, you know, do it in a car.” She lets the silence stretch, her grin only growing wider as she watches Rio’s reaction.
Rio blinks, caught off guard, and opens her mouth to respond but can’t quite find the words. “What?” she stammers, her face flushing a little. But before she can even fully process it, Agatha slowly unbuckles her seatbelt. “Wait. You’re actually serious?” she swallows.
Agatha hums, her voice dropping to a smooth, almost teasing tone. It was cold outside, but Rio could feel herself sweating. “I think all that pep talk just got me a little worked up.” She leans in a bit closer, her eyes locking onto Rio’s hazel-browns with a smirk. “So, what do you say, pretty boy? Are you up for it, or are you just all talk?”
Rio chuckles, but stops when Agatha cups her face and kisses her. It starts slow and soft. The kind of kiss that makes Rio’s heart do a somersault, no matter how many times they've shared it. “You're not trying to get us arrested, are you?” Rio jests between kisses, but Agatha just keeps going, her lips hungry and insistent.
“And who’s gonna arrest us?” Agatha murmurs, her fingers trailing up Rio’s neck, pulling her in even closer. “It’s snowing, and we’re the only ones stupid enough to be out here.”
Rio laughs quietly, but the sound quickly shifts into a moan as Agatha’s lips find hers again. Just as the kiss deepens, Agatha pulls back slightly, enough to look at her. “But you know, you can tell me if you don’t want to.” And of course, Rio’s annoying wife even has the audacity to pout.
“My love, I’m way too crazy about you to even second-guess doing this in a car,” Rio says, not wasting another second before leaning in, kissing Agatha again.
In moments like this, Rio can't help but imagine the future they’re set to build together.
She never really thought her life would come to this. Not after countless nights spent crashing on strangers’ couches, puking in random club restrooms, or doing push-ups on the street while high. Never in those wild, reckless days did she imagine waking up every day next to someone like Agatha.
At first, Rio didn’t believe in soulmates. How could she, when her mom and dad didn’t even make it long enough for her to understand what love was supposed to look like? But over time, she started to believe there’s always someone out there whose soul grows beside yours, like two flowers finally finding the same patch of sunlight. Someone who feels like they were always meant to be in your life. And Rio is so sure that Agatha was destined for her, as if the universe carefully planted every heartbreak just to lead her to this exact garden.
But some force in nature, it seems, has other plans.
This is why Rio always hated the fucking snow. How it turns everything slick and unpredictable. Because as quickly as the kiss begins, the moment is ripped away from them without warning.
Rio barely has time to turn her head at the guttural screech of a truck losing its brakes before it slams into the back of their car. The hit is so brutal that it sends them forward, her body snapping against the seatbelt, the strap biting hard into her chest. The car spins out, tires skidding uselessly, before slamming aggressively into a wall with a loud, bone-rattling crash.
Something strikes Rio’s forehead, and blood spills warm across her temple almost immediately. Her ears ring, and her vision blurs like looking through fogged glass as everything around her starts to spin. The last time her world spun like this was when she almost overdosed at nineteen, wishing for death because, in that moment, it felt easier to think that way when you had nothing left to lose. But this time is different.
“Agatha,” she breathes, her voice cracking.
And just before the black swallows her whole, her eyes land on something that violently steals the breath from her lungs: Agatha, her wife, the love of her life, thrown forward through the shattered windshield, her body too still and almost lifeless.
“Agatha,” Rio calls again, her voice growing weaker, but there's no reply. And, as if some cruel joke, her wife’s name on her lips is the only thing she holds onto before everything turns pitch black.
Rio hates the snow.
And the snow fucking hates her.