Maybe it was the snow, so clean and blank and ready for anything—and still coming down. Through the night the wind howled and slammed against my windows and the clanking storm door in the garage. Now it was windless and quiet—flakes came straight down, thick and heavy, making the backyard sparkle in the weak morning sun. Judging by the vague white hump I knew to be the picnic table, there was well over a foot already, maybe even closer to two. Something cool was definitely going to happen. How could it not? Maybe today was the day I’d tell Zane I loved him. Maybe I’d just get a snow-day. I heard a voice mumbling out of the phone so I put it back to my ear. “—ince. You there?” The voice belonged to Simon, my boss at Golden Age Comics. He’d scrambled away mid-conversation to let in his new wife’s yipping dog. “Get her?” I said. “I had to go way the hell out. She sunk in a drift.” He chuckled, or maybe he was huffing a bit. “I swear—that dog.” “Pretty deep, huh?”
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