We leave the apartment building at approximately seven minutes after eleven. Cumbersome snowflakes fall down from the heavens, weaving to and fro around us like a quilt. The temperature is a solid seven degrees, bitter. Nevin locks me against his bulky frame as we walk to his place.
“Let me keep you warm.”
I can’t remember the last guy who wanted to keep me warm from the cold outside. Not Trundle or my two boyfriends before him, Tanner and Dane. Not Michael Frayden, an English professor. Not Jesse Kemp, a mechanic. No one. It’s nice to hear Nevin say what he does, keeping me close to him.
Walking. More walking. The city opens around us: snow-covered skyscrapers, icy sidewalks, Uber cars carrying drunken passengers to midnight parties, no moon, snowflakes reflecting in white-gold streetl
