Snow Day

The snow started at midnight and by morning it had swallowed the cars. Mira stood at the window in her dressing gown watching the street disappear, phone in hand, reading cancellation after cancellation. Her flight. Leo's site visit. The dentist. The whole week, wiped clean.

'We're snowed in,' she announced.

Leo, who had been working from the kitchen table for most of the year and had not taken a day off since spring, put down his coffee and closed his laptop. Slowly. As if he were afraid it might object.

They made porridge with too much cinnamon. They found a board game with half the pieces missing and invented rules for the rest. At noon they built a lopsided snow figure on the balcony and gave it Leo's old scarf. At two, they went back to bed, supposedly to warm up.

It had been a long time. They had become efficient with each other, passing in hallways with quick kisses, talking in logistics. Under the duvet, with the radiator ticking and snow muffling every sound from the street, there was nowhere to be and nothing to schedule. They took their time. They talked between kisses about nothing at all, laughed at things that were not funny, and made love slowly while the afternoon light turned blue.

The snowplough came the next morning. Leo watched it pass from the window, then turned around and climbed back under the covers.

'One more day,' he said. 'Tell them the roads are still closed.'