Chapter 367

• “Yeah. Snow on our engagement night is a good sign—falling on us, white as our hair when we grow old.”
• So it was snowing. No wonder it felt so cold. Joaquin Latham looked out at the snow, drifting down like feathers, soft and scattered.
• Zayla Steele loved winter snow, but growing up in the south, it was rare to see any. Even when it did snow, the flakes were tiny as grains, melting the moment they touched your palm. A blizzard like this—big flakes like goose down—had never existed in his memory.