[Completed] A U.S. expatriate is cast into a rainy, foggy corner of Europe. He went there on the pretense to work on his research, but he actually wanted to put as many miles as possible between himself and his ex.
The university he works for has fo...
Art used the broom to brush off his shoes and trousers and shook the snow from his jacket. Then he followed Monica inside.
As far as he could tell, she stood on the same spot where that egg had found its messy end—not in a puddle of yolk, though, but in her richly red coat.
Like one of Santa's elves.
Her dimples showed as she moved a strand of drenched, pitch-black hair from her face. The movement caused a substantial slab of snow to slide off her shoulders and to alight on the floor with a final, wet sound.
He cringed inside—fortunately, he didn't have staircase cleaning duty this week.
I'm starting to think like the natives.
She grinned at him. "I love this weather. It makes everything look so clean and innocent, fresh, and untouched."
"Yes, it's burying yesterday." He took a step toward her. "Cleaning the slate for a new start."
A drop of water was hanging from the tip of her nose, sparkling.
"Yep." She nodded, the motion releasing the drop to contribute to the small lake at her feet. "The snow is like a new book, a blank page waiting for a beginning... for the prologue." Her face grew serious again. "Yet sooner or later it will melt... the enchantment will come to an end."
"True, but it all will look different in the sunshine of spring, won't it?"
"So they say." Her eyes held his for a moment. And one more. Then she glanced at her watch. "Oops."
"What's the matter?"
"I didn't realize how late it is... A colleague of mine is sick, and I've promised to work the late dinner shift for her. I must hurry... I'm sorry." She turned to ascend the stairs.
Art followed, avoiding lake Monica and its islands of melting snow.
When he reached the landing of his apartment, she stopped some steps above him. "This has been fun, Art."
"Absolutely. We... should do another round of questions sometime soon." He really wanted that.
"Yep. This week, though, I'll be working dinner shifts." She drew her lips into a thin line.
"What about the weekend?"
"That might work." Her smile returned. "But, with that sick colleague of mine, I'm not sure yet... If it's okay for you, I'll just pay you a visit when I know more. Are you around next Saturday?"
"Sure."
"Okay, I'll come knocking... or ringing. And now I do have to run. I'm sorry... really." She waved her bag at him. "Have a fine evening."
"You too, thanks," he replied and watched the red coat and black boots disappear around the turn of the stairs.
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