Page 16 of Love Under Snowfall

“You would be with people who love you. Eating my famous leftover turkey and stuffing sandwiches. Plus, I’m baking two pies this year so you have one to take back with you to school.”

Frankie nearly drooled on herself. Her mom was an insanely good cook. And Thanksgiving was always the best meal of the year. Her ability to make a perfectly moist turkey was so award-worthy that Frankie didn’t mindusingthe word moist to describe it. Her sausage and walnut stuffing was famous throughout the Leavenworth community. But the pumpkin pie. Her made-from-scratch pumpkin pie was like a dream. It was the essence of autumn baked into a buttery crust and topped with acloud of perfectly sweetened whipped cream. She looked down at her selected groceries: a couple frozen lasagnas for one, bananas, and a case of off-brand diet cola.

Depressing.

“You. Are. Diabolical.”

“I know, honey.” Patty chuckled sweetly.

Maybe Frankie could go home tonight and leave first thing Friday morning. Then, she could have her pie and make it back to Seattle with plenty of time to study.

Unfortunately, Frankie knew herself, and that was most definitely not how things would play out. She’d wake up Friday morning and her mom would convince her to go Black Friday shopping in Wenatchee.“Just for a couple of hours,”she would say.“Then you can head back to campus after lunch.”Lunch of leftover sandwiches would be amazing, and the toasty crackle in the fireplace and the smell of warm mulled wine on the stove would lull her to stay until Saturday morning. Then Lucy would take over Francesca’s mom’s task of waylaying her return.“Let’s go get a mani-pedi; you’ve worked so hard the last couple of months and deserve a relaxation day. My treat!”she’d offer rather convincingly. And Francesca would agree. They would go out to eat after that and by the time they got back to her mom’s house, Francesca would reason that it was safer to wait until morning to drive home. Especially because of the whiskey she’d have to warm up at the restaurant. By then, it would be Sunday, and she wouldn’t have read a page.

Nope.

She had to stay strong.

“Mom, I love you and wish I could come home, but I think it’s best for me to stick around here.” She sighed longingly, setting her basket on the ground to give her arms a break. “I miss everyone, but it’s the right call.”

“Ok, sweetie.” Patty crooned, “I'm proud of your dedication. It won’t be the same without you, but you do what you have to do.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“You’re welcome, my little scholar.”

“Plus, the next few weeks will fly by, and I’ll be home for the wedding and winter break before you know it. But for now, I need to go.”

“Don’t study too hard.”

“No promises. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Frankie ended the call and shuffled her basket forward with her foot as the line progressed. Two customers stood between her and the cashier. First, a woman attempting to corral three kids as she feverishly stacked boxed stuffing, baking supplies, and a beastly turkey onto the conveyor belt. Behind her hunched a middle-aged man with strikingly similar contents to her own basket. He glanced back and down at Frankie's very un-Thanksgivingy selections and offered her a morose nod of solidarity.

I should have grabbed some wine.

Eyeing the rack full of impulse buys, she snagged a couple peppermint patties. Eating the minty treat from the freezer might give her the sensation of breathing in the icy air back home. It was a lackluster consolation prize, for sure, but she tossed a third into her basket anyway.

Finally, Frankie hit the front of the line. After taking her change back from the frazzled cashier, she smiled and made her way to the door. While struggling to retrieve her keys and balance the paper bag of food-for-singles in one arm, she dropped the fistful of bills and coins. She stopped, knelt down, and got plowed over by a set of legs wearing neatly polished dress shoes.

“What the fu—”

“Oh! I didn’t see you down there,” a smooth, deep voice crooned.

Frankie scoffed and collected her scattered items.

“Here, allow me to help you.”

The man knelt, scooped up the frozen entrées, and deposited them into her paper bag.

His swift movements wafted his cologne, or shampoo, or whatever it was her way. He smelled divine, like warm spices and crisp autumn air. Everything Frankie loved about the season. She ventured a glance at the man’s face then froze like a deer in headlights.

What were the fucking odds?

“Professor Clark!” she choked out as he placed a hand beneath her elbow to help her rise.

“Miss Miller.” His face morphed into a pinched expression. “I should have guessed it was you.”

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