But for now, he’d hide his discomfort, his bad memories. And he’d be the doting dad, making sure his daughter never had cause for the ice block in her stomach.

He wrenched open the front door, desperate for a snow day distraction.

The snowball hit him squarely in the chest.

Noah stood, blinking down at the snowy impact on his t-shirt.

“You have five minutes to get ready,” Cat announced, hefting another snowball.

Noah wedged the door between them peering around the corner. “Five minutes for what?”

“You and Sara. Warm, preferably waterproof clothes. Five minutes. Go!”

He stared at her, attempting to formulate words. She was wearing a knit hat in cobalt blue that stood out against the honey blonde of her hair. Her parka was zipped to the neck and hid the tattoo that had changed his life on her wrist. Her mittens were thick and matched the hat. She had knee-high snow boots on.

“Come on!” she said, hauling back as if to throw her reserve snowball in his face.

It was better than an omelet fight, Noah decided. “Sara! Find your ski pants!” he yelled and jogged up the stairs.

He left the front door open so Cat could come in if she so desired.

“Sara!” he yelled again, barreling into her room.

“Geez, Dad. It’s a snow day. Can’t a girl get some extra sleep?” she asked, giving him a disgruntled look from under her comforter.

“Cat’s here. She wants us in snow clothes in—”

“Four minutes,” Cat yelled from the foyer.

Sara went from sleepy preteen to energized kid in half a second flat. She threw her comforter on the floor and tore into her room. “Hi, Cat!” she yelled.

“Hi, Sara! Hurry up, Yateses! Get a move on,” Cat bellowed.

Sara giggled hysterically from the depths of her room. Noah dug through his closet until he found his never-worn ski pants, some old snow boots, and a thermal shirt.

He felt like an idiot speed dressing without any idea where Cat was taking them. Knowing her, she probably wanted to film some kind of orchestrated snowball fight. Or she could be driving them into the middle of nowhere to do shots and snowshoe. Wait, scratch that. She wouldn’t ask Sara to do shots.

He fumbled with the laces on his left boot and scanned the room for his winter coat, the one he saved for shoveling snow and fighting off the biting cold at mid-winter ribbon cutting ceremonies.

“Let’s go! Bus is leaving,” Cat called.

“Hurry up, Dad!” Sara grinned as she ran past his doorway, and Noah felt his heart lighten.

He dashed down the stairs after her, still fumbling for his gloves.

They met in the doorway. Cat grinned at him, and Noah felt a warm rush wash through his veins. She looked like an angelic devil, beautiful and up to no good.