Something I wrote at one o'clock last night...fun.
Jack sat inside his small coffee-shop, sighing contentedly as he sipped his scalding hot cocoa and watching the steady fall of rain turn to snow. There was nothing better than spotting the first flake of white amid all that dull gray, watching the temperature drop another degree, knowing that as the day wore on into evening, snow would begin to pile higher and higher until...well, one never knew. At least twelve inches by eight o'clock this evening, or he'd eat his brand new wool-lined water-resistant skull cap.
"Hey, can I get a little service in here! Hello! Where's the manager?" A man's voice called demandingly, startling Jack. He turned around and grinned as he saw an enormously tall and broad-shouldered man thumping his fist on the counter.
"Hey, Dan - nice to see you too," said Jack, strolling with exaggerated slowness over to the counter.
"Hey, Jack. It'll be snowing pretty soon - wouldn't be surprised if we had twelve inches by tomorrow," Dan remarked, all hostility gone from his voice and features.
"That's what I was just thinking. As soon as the temperature drops two more degrees, we'll be all set for a long, snowy night." Jack began to prepare a tall mug of coffee as he answered Dan.
"I closed the library early so I could get back to my place," said Dan. He reached out and grabbed the mug, sipping gratefully at the coffee. "Thanks, Jack. Nobody makes this like you do."
"And would you like a pastry with that, sir?" asked Jack, laughing.
"No thanks, I'm going home to a hot dinner and a warm bed," said Dan, staring meaningfully at Jack. "Speaking of which...did you wimp out on that date with Patricia - again?"
"What do you mean, again? Last time I my car broke down," said Jack indignantly. He stood tall, but was unable to be angry for long. Even though he was six feet tall he was still a good foot shorter than Dan, and it's difficult to be angry at someone who looks like they should be a blacksmith. Or football player. Or professional boxer. Or anything besides a librarian.
"I can't believe it. You didn't go, did you?" Dan shook his head in disgust. "Man, you're never going to get a wife if you don't act like you want it!"
"But what if I don't want it?" protested Jack. "Besides, Patricia scares me."
"How can she scare you? She's sweeter, prettier and more gentle than any other single girl in this tiny town."
"That's what scares me. She's too perfect. Besides, she's only nineteen. Four years younger than me," said Jack, brushing back his dark hair.
"You need a haircut," said Dan, standing straight and setting his mug down abruptly.
"Who are you, my mother?" asked Jack, taking the mug to the sink to wash it.
"I wouldn't need to nag you about these things if you got a girlfriend," said Dan. Jack picked up a towel and walked towards the large man menacingly. Dan laughed and hurried towards the exit.
"All right, all right, I can take a hint! No towel snapping from you, no nagging from me." Dan paused, and his warm brown eyes twinkled mischievously. "You own a coffee-shop, you don't date, and you hang out with librarians. Man, you're old before your time!"
Before Jack could answer, Dan was gone, tucking his head down into the collar of his plaid shirt and leaning into the rain - which had turned completely to snow now, and was falling thick and fast. Jack laughed and went back to the window, sipping his now-lukewarm cocoa and trying to follow individual flakes as they came down. Really, even after eleven years of living in this town, eleven winters, it still surprised him - how fast the snow would fall and stick. Already there had to be at least an inch on the ground, and it had only been snowing for a few minutes.
Glancing at the clock, he sighed and got up, dumping the rest of his cocoa into the sink. The nice thing about owning his own shop was that he could close whenever he wanted. He usually tried to close around six, but he had stayed later today. He needed to grab dinner and call Patricia before he headed back home.
Locking up the store, he grimaced as he read the sign - Jack's Java. Oh, wow. Such an amazingly creative and original name...sarcastically speaking. His mother had thought of it, and he kept it in her name, even though she and his dad had been divorced for three years. He never saw her, but he still loved her and thought about her.
Heading across the street towards Taco Bell for a nice warm fast food dinner, he groaned when he saw who was walking towards the same restaurant - Patricia Campbell. Lovely...sarcastically speaking. She walked with her usual innocent-little-girl walk, seeming to think about whether or not to put her foot down before each step. A tiny slip of a woman, she barely came up to Jonathan's chest. Her blond hair was cut in a short, wavy bob and her always-perfect makeup and manicure completed her designer outfits. She was not Jack's style, but she was sweet and good-natured, so Jack was not looking forward to canceling their date. She would look at him with those big oh-so-pretty green eyes filled with hurt and sorrow, and say softly, "Was it something I did? Oh, Jack!"
Jack groaned again, bent his head against the hard, fast-falling snow and forged onward. Either he'd have to find a pay-phone and call her or he'd have to talk to her now, and getting it over with seemed like a good idea.
"Hey, Patricia," he said as he blew into Taco Bell, followed by a gust of snowflakes.
She turned around and her huge eyes lit up like Christmas lights. "Oh my gosh, Jack! I was just thinking about you, and our...you know...date." She ran forward and planted a light kiss on his cheek. Jack fought the urge to wipe off the sticky lip gloss he knew would be planted on his four-o'clock shadow.
"Yeah, about the...the date. Patricia, I think you're a really sweet girl and everything, but - I've realized that you're not for me. I'm a big nasty brute of a guy and you deserve somebody better. I've decided it's better we just keep our relationship to good friends, and not let it go any further."
Jack took a deep breath and watched in dismay as Patricia's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Jack! Was it...was it something I did?"
"No, of course not! I just told you, it's all me. I'm just...I like our friendship, Pat, and I don't want to lead you on by going on dates when I don't mean to get really serious."
Patricia smiled bravely and nodded, sniffing a little. She was taking it better than I'd hoped. For Patricia, this was a low-level dramatic reaction. "I understand, Jack. You always were a gentleman. I appreciate your honesty."
Apparently she didn't appreciate Jack's honesty enough to stick around and order dinner, so he sighed regretfully and watched her walk away outside, wondering if he'd just made the right decision, or a big mistake.
After a quick, lonely dinner, he strode outside, zipping his thick jacket all the way up against the cold. The temperature had dropped considerably now - it was almost seven o'clock and there were at least seven inches of snow on the ground. Wishing he had brought his tall boots instead of sneakers, he forged his way to his large four-wheel-drive truck. It was a monstrosity, and a pain to park, but had seen him through a lot of snowstorms.
Wheeling out of the parking space in front of his coffee-shop, he began to carefully drive down the street, window-wipers going full blast. Staring at the snowflakes as they came towards him in the darkness, he felt as if he were being hypnotized and forced his attention back to the road. It took him a good twenty minutes just to get to the edge of the town, small though it was. He then gunned his gas a little harder, wheels throwing up snow before the truck took off. He slowed down for the turn that took him up the long country road to his house. It was a beautiful evening. The snow was falling thick and fast on the white fields, and the moon lit the white-washed scene more brightly than any streetlights would.
Finally Jack reached his driveway, and was surprised to see a large dark coat lying in the driveway. Jumping out of the truck he picked it up and brushed the layer of snow off, holding it up. It was a man's coat, large and thick, obviously meant for seriously cold weather. Footprints trailed from the coat along his driveway. Jack measured the prints with his own and was surprised to find that the tracks in his driveway were a good deal smaller than his boots. By the coat, he would have thought a large man was somewhere on his premises.
Stowing the coat inside his truck, he leapt back inside and turned on his brights, creeping cautiously up the long, winding driveway. Pulling up in front of his house, he smiled when he saw the warm glow in the upstairs window of the huge white farmhouse. He always left that light on for returning home - it make him feel more welcome.
Dropping his gaze lower, he surveyed the front yard - and stopped, mouth gaping open in surprise. A woman he'd never seen before was shoveling his front walk - with his own shovel - and placing the snow into an absolutely immense black trash bag. Jack pulled the keys out of his truck and walked forward quietly. The woman was obviously intent on her work, and didn't notice him. He stared at her for a moment, taking in the strangeness of it all. She was tall, probably five feet ten inches, and built in a solid, athletic way that brought to mind all those tough kickboxers you saw on TV. Her muscled shoulders were covered by a large, baggy sweater over which was a tight leather jacket. Around her neck was wrapped a dark blue scarf that hung down and brushed the ground as she scooped snow up in her shovel, pulling it effortlessly from the ground and dumping it inside her bag. She wore a pair of black, baggy jeans with a short, multi-colored wrap-around skirt pulled over the top. On her head was a knitted blue cap frosted with snow flakes, and her shoulder-length brown hair was curling damply around her face.
"Excuse me, ma'am..." Jack called hesitantly.
The woman's head jerked up and she turned around abruptly, holding the shovel away from her body as if she were scalded by it. Now Jack could see her face and he was surprised by how young it looked. She had a soft, rounded chin and a high forehead. Her nose was also rounded, and her lips were plump. She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head and stepped forward, holding out her bare hands that were shaking slightly in the cold and looked almost white.
"I'm sorry, sir...this may seem forward." She flashed him a small, uncertain smile. "Are you the owner of this fine establishment?" Her voice had a subtle accent that Jack couldn't quite place - a little English? No...maybe Scottish. Whatever it was, there was only a trace of it.
Jack stepped forward and gripped her hand, then dropped it abruptly. "Oh my God, your hands are freezing!"
The woman's tentative smile dropped from her face. "Please don't use the Lord's name in vain around me."
"Er...sorry. Anyway, so what were you doing shoveling my walk? Not to say I'm not grateful, but it's a little unusual."
"Well, I haven't shoveled a walk in a long time, and all this snow just made me want to. I was walking through and I glimpsed your house and thought I'd take a closer look. I saw the shovel just sitting there getting buried, so I decided to do both you and me a favor." As the woman spoke she leaned the shovel against her large black bag of snow and tucked her fingers underneath her arms.
"It's sort of an excuse...to pretend I owned this beautiful house for a bit, and enjoy the lovely snow," said the woman.
"So why the...?" asked Jack, gesturing to the immense bag. The woman looked behind her and then up, laughing a little.
"Oh, that. That's for personal reasons. I hope you don't mind?"
Jack couldn't find anything exactly wrong with the situation - just kind of strange. His walk was shoveled beautifully, though, and she hadn't been violent or anything, so he couldn't complain.
"Um...no, no I don't mind." Jack walked forward and picked up the shovel. "Er...would you like to come inside for a bit?"
"No, I have to go," said the woman. She bent over, braced her legs and lifted the huge bag of snow. Jack stared, astonished...he probably couldn't have lifted that much snow. "I have things to do before it gets too late. Thanks for the snow."
Jack nodded obligingly. "Any time," he said, slightly dazed. He watched as she struggled along through the snow, pulling the bag along with her. In the darkness and thick-falling snow, he quickly lost sight of the strange woman.
Trying to put the incident out of his mind, he walked up his neatly shoveled path to the front door, kicked off his soaking wet sneakers and unlocked the door. Walking into a cold dark house was so hard that he almost turned around and went back to town for another hour at the warm, empty Taco Bell. He shoved forward in his stocking feet, hit the light switch with one hand and the heat with the other. Hearing a sound that was deppressingly like a death rattle from the heater, he waved his hand in front of the vent on the floor. No warm air was coming out. Jack groaned and sat back on his heels, already running over in his mind what the warmest blankest and clothes he owned were. It was going to be a long night.
Here they are:
