Winter Leather

The ice feels kinda blue; it just doesn't look blue; it feels blue. The shovel's not heavy, and I'm doing pretty well with it; I remember why I hate Florida with every single stroke.

Connecticut is everything I've been missing; the chill, the ice, the peace and the deathly quiet of a snowstorm. I can shovel my way to the door without hurting myself. The snow is now hip-deep.

When I hit the street, with that last shovel of snow, I feel completely accomplished.

And I didn't notice Scott standing at the end of the street.

"Oops! Let me play for your dry cleaning..."

"It's fine," he blinks through the crusty layers of ice. "I didn't know you'd bought this place..."

"I wanted to move to the country," I explain, stuffing my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. "You look good, Scott."

"Yeah; I don't have to work as consistently as I once had," he shrugs his shoulders. "You look cold."

"You don't. Isn't that jacket..."

"Yeah, you gave it to me."

"Oh...I thought you'd throw it away."

"I didn't throw it away. I'm very sentimental."

I chuckle.

"You don't believe me?"

"Of course. And the moon is made of green cheese."

"I still want to be friends with you, Molly. And...I have eight dollars in my pocket. Want some coffee?"

"You don't have anything better to do tonight, do you?"

"Nope."

"Coffee sounds good."

"Let me take you there, Molly."

His voice is filled with a passion I don't want to comprehend. "Take me there, Scott."

It's not about sex. Why does it feel like it's about sex? We had sex. HAD.

Coffee and a doughnut will sort everything out. I hope.


Go On