The ground and cars were covered in a thick coat of white fluffiness. Jeez. It picked up fast. Thank God it was Sunday and she didn’t have to work in this mess. She and Ambrose had planned to spend the whole day together. He’d promised her a “wining and dining adventure.” They were supposed to go to a wine tasting then another one of his favorite restaurants. The man had a lot of those. Strange for a blue-collar worker. But sometimes taste defied status.
It made her a little worried for their future together. She couldn’t, in good conscience, let him keep spending so much money on her just for food. If they were going to have something long-term, he’d have to scale back the fancy stuff here and there. They were still in the impressing-each-other phase, so she let him spoil her, but guilt was starting to push in. How could he afford to keep up that lifestyle? She guessed because he lived modestly in every other way he could spend his extra money on fancy food and experiences. The resourceful thriftiness would come in handy someday—like when they had to put together a nursery for a baby.
“Whoa,” she said to the window. “Slow the fuck down.” Her uterus was spinning out of control.
Her text alert beeped.
Just stay put, little girl.
She grinned at her phone. Are you going to wine and dine me in my little apartment?
Secretly, she hoped he’d fuck her. Her period was finally over and she’d been hard up since.
Don’t worry. I have a new plan. Do you have warm clothes? Or only fashionable, impractical things?
Warm clothes? Why did she get the sense she wasn’t going to like this? She was about to respond when another message came through.
Never mind. I’ll take care of everything. Be there soon. Xoxo
She wasn’t sure whether her stomach fluttered with excitement or anxiety. Maybe she should put her schoolgirl skirt on. At least then she’d know where things were headed.
Speaking of clothes, she was still in her pajamas. What should I wear for this mystery date?
It took a few minutes for him to reply, which she spent staring at the phone in the middle of her bathroom. So annoying. She was fucking hooked.
Warm clothes that you don’t care about getting ruined.
“Fuuuuuck.”
They were going fucking skiing or something dangerous and . . . cold. Maybe she should have warned him about how much of a wuss she was. Unless she was protesting, spending long amounts of time outdoors really wasn’t her thing. Couldn’t they just watch a movie or something normal?
After spending half an hour deliberating over what to wear, she finally settled on an old pair of sweatpants and a thermal shirt she’d had since high school. It was warm, but she looked like a slob. This was definitely not her idea of a romantic date.
With a sigh, she threw her hair in a side braid then searched her room for her gloves and hat.
A knock at the door interrupted her and she went to open it, afraid of what she’d see on the other side.
It was Ambrose, covered in white powder, wearing a parka and hat and grinning like a fucking idiot. “Hey, my little snow angel.”
She started backing away. “No. Whatever your plan is, no.”
His evil laugh didn’t comfort her. He followed her inside, shaking himself off like a dog and stomping his boots on the mat in the entryway.
Then she noticed the shopping bag in his hand. “The abominable snowman brought gifts?”
“Yup.” He placed the bag on the back of her couch then started pulling out the items. “Here,” he said, shoving a pair of snow pants at her. “Try these on.”
She stood there flabbergasted, unsure of where to even begin. “Just what do you have in mind for this date, Ambrose?” Her gut had been right. She wasn’t going to like this.
With a twinkle in his eye that reminded her a five-year-old, he said, “We’re going sledding.” Then he pushed a pair of snow boots into her arms.
Stunned, she looked down at them. The tag read clearly, SIZE NINE. “How do you know my shoe size?”
“I make it my mission to know everything about you.”
“That’s creepy.”
He laughed.