Snow Girl

The sound of the water stopped and Shannon emerged a minute later wrapped in a towel. I thought about the morning I'd first met her in Frank's apartment. Unlike Frank, I didn't have a satin robe to offer her. I stood up, still naked, and we smiled uncertainly at each other. I didn't know what to say so I just stepped past her into the bathroom and got ready for work as quickly as I could.

Shannon was dressed and waiting in the kitchen as I emerged from the bathroom.

"I got myself a glass of orange juice," she said. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, that's fine. I'm not really up to cooking breakfast this morning. Want to stop in at the café and get a croissant or something?"

"Sure."

We were awkward and quiet with each other as we bundled up and got our things together. I locked my front door and we walked down the narrow flight of stairs to the street.

She spoke thoughtfully on the way down. "I've been thinking. I told you that we're doing this film on Jamaican immigrants in New York? I wonder what they wear in weather like this. Maybe I could design a look for the film that's heavy clothing, but with the bright Caribbean colors."

We stepped outside. The morning sky was a cottony grey overcast. The air was still and frozen, but big flakes of snow drifted down like feathers. I hunched inside my winter coat, shivering. But Shannon looked up dreamily into the sky and held my arm.

"The snow," she said. "It's so beautiful."

I always welcome feedback. It's why I write.