He heard her shoes crunching the frost beneath them before he saw her. His head was down, and he stared at her black boots for the longest time, oddly transfixed by them. They were impeccably clean, though he could see the frost stuck in her treads from her trek across the park.
"Mac?"
His eyes traveled up the rest of her body, taking in her long black coat and the way her curls danced around her shoulders. Finally, his eyes met hers, and he found himself giving her a half-smile.
"Hey, Stella."
She gave him a sad smile in return, taking a seat on the bench beside him.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
A smirk teased at the edges of his mouth. "Is there some reason I wouldn't be?"
Stella shrugged. "Sitting on a park bench by yourself in the middle of winter doesn't exactly scream 'I'm fine.'"
"Touche."
She reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Talk to me, Mac," she said quietly.
He stayed silent for another few minutes, seemingly lost in thought. Stella waited patiently; she knew that he would talk when he was ready. When his voice did reach her ears again, it was reflective but steady.
"I used to get angry whenever the first frost of the year came. I would go to Claire's grave, and the flowers I had put there would be dead. It always felt like God was playing some cruel trick - killing the flowers to remind me that she was never coming back." He smiled just a little. "But a few months ago, I remembered suddenly how much she loved winter - it was her favorite season. She said that the snow made her think of a clean slate; the world was getting a second chance." Mac turned his head to regard Stella. "We all deserve a second chance, don't we, Stell?"
She slipped her hand into his. "Yes," she whispered.
"I used to think that Peyton was my chance to start over. That's why it hurt so much when she left - it felt as though I'd failed twice. But do you know what I realized?" Stella shook her head, trying to hold back the tears that sprang at this newfound honesty. "Winter comes every year, as does spring. We're surrounded by second and third and fourth chances, every day. They don't last forever, though. If we let enough of them pass by...that's the only way we can fail."
He was looking right at her now, and Stella found that she was having trouble breathing. "What are you saying, Mac?"
Reaching out, he let his fingers brush against her cheek. "I'm tired of watching things pass me by."
Stella closed her eyes as Mac leaned in, his lips settling against hers. The feeling warmed her from head to toe as she kissed him back gently. Mac was slow, but insistent, and it wasn't long before he tilted his head and took the kiss even deeper. Stella clung to him, her fingers twisted in the collar of his jacket as she pulled him closer. Eventually, though, they drew back, their breaths mingling in the cold air around them.
He smiled then, and Stella thought she had never seen him smile in quite that way. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Mac tucked her into his side. She rested her head on his chest and they stared out at the park around them, both content in the knowledge that they were right where they were supposed to be.