***

Molly slowly turned into the Chickadee Flight's driveway, and made a surprised noise.

"Oh, someone's here," Molly said.

Viola lifted her eyes from her mobile. She knew exactly who the man shovelling the snow was the moment she saw the wide confident movements of his body.

"Oh, I could've just asked one of the Krasinky boys to do it," Nana grumbled. "He always has to do everything himself."

It's because Rhys Holyoake thinks he's the only one who knows how to do things right, Viola thought. She climbed out of the car and opened the door for Mable.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Holyoake," Molly said, waved her hand to the women, and slowly drove away.

"Rhys, I thought you were going to have some rest," Nana said with affection hiding under her usual sardonic tone. "You do know what rest is, don't you?"

He straightened up and gave Nana his usual frowned look.

"I was on my way to one of the cottages, and thought I'd stop by," he answered, and glanced at Viola. "How was your shopping trip?"

Viola discreetly checked her watch. Hadn't he said he was going for a nap, and something about having been awake for twenty hours? He couldn't have slept for more than an hour. None of your concern, Viola. To think of it, it was none of her concern in general - ex-husband or not. People could do whatever they wanted to their bodies, as long as it didn't interfere with her practice.

"Excellent," Nana answered, slowly making her way by him. "We visited all the old favourites of Viola's, and she bought herself a lovely tea set in that new gift shop they'd opened on Lilac Lane."

Viola followed, carefully watching the old woman's movement. She knew better than to offer Mable a hand, but she made a mental note to suggest Dr. Fenton to prescribe Nana a taller cane.

And then Nana's foot slipped on a small patch of ice, and Viola lunged ahead. While still moving she could see Mable straighten up, regaining balance - and Viola's body crashed into Rhys'. His hand supported her under her elbow, while his left one was stretched towards Nana, who clearly didn't need help from either of them. The man felt like a rock. A rock bench in a hot hammam, to be precise. Viola pressed her hands into his chest and pushed. He let her go, muttering an apology.

Nana looked over her shoulder.

"What are you two doing there?"

"Snogging," Rhys answered in a grumpy tone, and Viola whipped her head and stared at him.

What?!

Nana chuckled and turned to the door again.

"Sam's coming with the little'uns," she said and started walking up the stairs of the porch. "Don't clean all the snow. They'll want to make a snowman."

"Maybe he should clean the snow then," Rhys said and stuck the shovel into the nearest snow pile.

Viola decided that he could surely decide that for himself - just as he did with everything in his life - and followed Nana inside.

***

The kettle had just boiled, when the doorbell rang. Viola opened the door, and smiled at Sam. She then looked down at his two children. Pat was a tall lanky boy, who looked just as all Holyoake men did at the age of ten. He had wide shoulders and seemed to consist of long legs. He had dark curls, just as his father, and Semra's brown eyes. Lily looked just like her mother.

"Hello," Viola said and smiled at them. "I'm Viola."

A disjointed choir of voices answered to her.

"Are you coming in?" she asked.

"They wanted to play in the snow first," Sam answered and pushed a hat into Lily's hand.

He was holding a pile of clothes - scarves, mittens, and hats - and the children quickly bundled up and ran towards Rhys who was standing, leaning on his shovel.

"They'll be fine with Rhys," Sam answered.

Viola saw Pat run and jump onto Rhys. Lily joined in, cutting him under his knees, and Viola watched her ex-husband topple into the freshly piled snow, loudly guffawing. She'd hardly ever seen him around children, she realised. She wasn't surprised at how well he did, of course. Familial and parental skills were built into the Holyoake DNA, as unscientific as it sounded. Viola stepped aside letting Sam in.

"Nana's having rest," Viola said.

He nodded. While he was hanging his jacket in the closet, she noticed him wince.

"Are you alright?" Viola asked softly, and he glanced at her and nodded.

"Just my back," he said. "Rhys is working me to the bone."

"Are you still in his company?" she asked, and he nodded again.

They walked to the kitchen.

"Tea?" he asked, and Viola gave him a tender look.

To think of it, he was right, it was more his home than hers. Of course, he assumed it would be his responsibility to 'be mother.' Rhys wouldn't.

"The kettle has just boiled," she pointed out, and he started making two cups of tea.

"How are you doing these days, Sam?" she asked, and he looked at her sideways.

"Have they told you already?"

She saw him press his lips in a bitter line.

"No one told me anything," she said. "And if they tried, I wouldn't listen. I'm not part of this family anymore, I'm not obliged to let them stick their noses into my business."

He smirked, still without much humour, and shook his head. "I wish I had the guts to leave, like you have."

"It was different for me, Sam. I didn't have children," she said quietly and stepped to him.

She caught herself looking at his hand - large, with longer, more slender fingers than his brother's - on the counter.

"It hasn't been good, Vi," he whispered, and she gently put her palm on his upper arm. "I– These past few years, I just don't know–" He closed his eyes for a second, and she saw muscles dance on his jaw.

Viola tilted her head, looking into his face. He turned his head slightly, and their eyes met.

The skin on the back of her neck tingled, as if licked by a stream of hot air, and she whipped her head. Rhys stood in the door of the kitchen, his eyes intent on them. His head was lowered, his shoulders raised, in a posture that looked almost threatening. If he were some large aggressive animal, fur would stand up on his nape. His features were set in a dark expression.

"We need a carrot," he said, his voice unpleasantly scratchy.

"Pardon?" Viola asked.

Her hand on Sam's arm felt odd, as if the palm was itchy, but she didn't move it.

"We're making a snowman," Rhys said, somewhat softening his pose and his tone.

"I'll check," Sam said with a small chuckle.

He opened the fridge, rummaged in a crisper, and pulled out a carrot.

"Are you coming?" Rhys asked, taking it out of Sam's hand.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Sam said quickly.

"We haven't had tea yet," Viola said stubbornly. Why are you suddenly irritated? Because Sam wouldn't push back - and Rhys knows it.

Sam threw her an uncertain look.

"We can take it outside," he said in a pacifying tone. "Will you come?" He smiled at her. "Please. Help us build a snowman, you've always been so good at it."

She never was, he was misremembering - but she nodded and walked to the hall. She put on her coat, mittens, and hat, picked up the tea she'd brought from the kitchen, and stopped outside on the porch.

Sam came out as well, Pat called him, and he pushed the mug on the railing and ran to his children. They were trying to make that first ball of snow to start rolling. Rhys stopped near her, and she fought the urge to glare at him.

"Semra and him are having problems. More than usual," Rhys said near her quietly, and she turned and gave him a surprised look. "They were supposed to both visit, and– she's not here."

She suddenly saw how worried he was for his younger brother - his eyes followed Sam who was chasing laughing Lily with a large snowball in his hands - and all her irritation was gone.

"Is it the pills?" she asked, and then spoke before he did, "Sorry, don't answer that. It's none of my business, and he'll tell me if he wants."

Rhys nodded, still without looking at her.

"You've always been good with him," he said. "I just– don't know what to do anymore."

It was such an unexpected thing to hear from him that she turned and gawked at him. Did you just almost lift your hand to touch him? He stepped forward and down the steps.

"Rhys?"

He turned around and looked at her, their eyes for once level. She remembered how he used to take her breath away - his elongated eyes, like a wolf's, as if traced with black, because of how thick his eyelashes were; the stubborn willful lines of his lips; the even warm tone of his skin. The longer, disheveled hair suit him awfully.

"You forgot your carrot," she said and pointed at the vegetable he'd left on the railing near Sam's cup.

He chuckled, stepped forward, and grabbed the carrot.

"Yeah, I'm going to need this," he muttered and walked away towards Sam who was trying to push Pat into the snow.

The children were laughing, and Rhys picked up Lily across her body, flipping her upside down so that her legs dangled in the air. The girl squealed, without any real fear in her voice. Viola could see how careful he actually was. Viola took a sip of her tea, her eyes on the men and children playing in the yard.