Blue snow fall.

In his defense, he was used to sunny days and beaches, he reminded himself while watching her flounce around snowdrifts in that criminally short skirt of hers. There had to be some secret to it - her white blouse could be electrically-insulated, perhaps. Or maybe the snow gods just had soft spots for pigtailed girls with bright smiles. Hell if he knew, it was all he could do to keep wading through the thigh-high blanket of fresh snow while his betraying body was trapped in a long continual state of shiver.

Anyway, he was far too busy trying not to be a human popsicle to wave her off when she laughed at his slowness and asked, inanely, if he was cold. Who wouldn't be, other than a certain diamond dust pixie in knee socks and cyan ribbons. But he was far too busy trying to keep his teeth from chattering, so of course he couldn't answer properly or even tell her off when she removed the baby-blue sweater from around her waist and draped it over his shoulders, tying the sleeves around his neck like a scarf. There was no way he could look anything other than ridiculous. But she almost had him convinced - it looks good, man! - and then she was stepping up on her tip-toes to give him what he supposed was a reassuring peck on the cheek, her lips as light as the kiss of landing snowflakes, but infinitely warmer.

Then she was whirling off again like the winter wind, skipping on ahead and calling, with that kilowatt smile of hers, for him to catch up. It took a couple more steps before he realized with surprise that he wasn't quite shivering anymore, and curled his fingertips into the satin-softness of her sweater, warmer by far than any electric heating.