Aidan

It had been snowing all day. Soft flakes blanketing the city.

Night fell and she knew that his plane would never make it. She leaned back against her pillows and stared at the ceiling. This one time that he was coming to her... he would be deterred. And never come again! Her heart had stirred all day at the sound of his voice on the line. Calling like a normal person from the airport, as if he was some changed human who communicates. Shouldn't he be after eight years?

At last it was 11 o'clock. Everything was quiet and still and white.

Buzzzzzzz.

She yanked the door open.

There he was: tufts of khaki hair sticking out from under an olive green sky cap and a tweed jacket. His bag was strapped across his chest and covered in snow. There he was is her New York. And there Byron wasn't.

Theirs were the very first tracks in the snow as they trudged to the all-night diner. They were the only customers; he slouched to a booth in the back. Anne stretched her legs under the table and rested her feet next to his hips.

Her eyes still made him uncomfortable. She was mad that his hands were still so unrealistically soft.

On the way back to her bedroom, she tried to take his soft hand in her own. He turned away. He wanted to hold her hand and he wanted to taste the white snow in her black hair, but he could not. Yet.

Anne's heart burned with anger and desire.

She buzzed around her apartment in a state of agitated emotion, arranging things and casting pillows about. He was still, and eventually her monologue quavered and her eyes filled with tears. Then he gathered her up in his arms in a quiet embrace. Her breathing slowed to a normal pace at his neck and he bent his head to kiss her. Her hand reached up to touch the jaw that she had known so well.

If only to be covered with snow... always... always...