A Little Snow and a Bottle of Merlot

“... And overnight, we’re gonna see twelve more inches of snow, so stay indoors and stay off those roads...” That’s what the weatherman was saying on the radio said as Francine slid her car into the ditch. She was a south Florida girl experiencing her first winter in northern Michigan, and it wasn’t going so well.

The bar she worked at, Lil’ Bob’s, closed up early for the night on account of the weather. The usual barflies bellyached, ‘Ah, stay open a little longer. This is just flurries. This is nothing!’ The men up here loved saying that to her. But it wasn’t flurries, it was twelve inches of snow, and now, the nose of Francine’s hatchback was buried up to its headlights in a snowbank.

Francine put her weight behind the door to get it open against the drifts, and the wind gusted in like a crackling fist. She wrapped her tangle of scarves and flannel jackets around her, cursing herself for not owning a proper Michigan parka. It was one in the morning and the roads were abandoned; there would be no hitchhiking her way out of this. She had a vague reckoning of where she was, triangulating her position to somewhere near main street, but the snow globe effect of the blizzard shrouded her in a white haze. She couldn’t see twenty feet in any direction. There was one -- just one -- light shining bright enough to cut through the snowflakes, and that was the bright red neon sign of CRESTMAN’S FINE GROCERIES.

She used it as her North Star. It guided her through the snow banks and across the windswept parking lot, and as she got closer to that sign, she could see the lights were on in the store, and better still, someone was inside!

“Hey!” she shouted, her voice muted by the wind and snow. Whoever was inside couldn’t hear her one bit. She staggered closer to the store, but lost her footing on a ridge of ice and went down hard. Her knee was throbbing now and her fingers were curling up and numb. She wanted to cry, but didn’t dare out of fear the tears would freeze her eyes shut. Then, she felt a warm hand around her upper arm. She looked up and recognized the hand as belonging to a semi-regular down at Lil’ Bob’s. His name was Ryan, and he was the type to fly in for a last call beer and chop it up with all the other regulars who closed down the bar every night. Everyone seemed to know him like an old friend. He always paid in cash, always tipped well, and always wore just his white v-neck undershirt, like the one he was wearing now.

He must have recognized her too. “Francine?”, he said, pulling her to her feet, “what are you doing out here?”

She couldn’t get a response out from her chattering teeth. Ryan walked her the rest of the way across the parking lot, keeping his hand on her arm to steady her. She started to feel warmer inside already. "Michigan boys. What is it about them that makes me feel this way?"

Francine moved to town for a Michigan boy. He was an artist and a native who had fooled her into believing Michigan was a paradise by bringing her up in May. She loved it so much that, by June, she agreed to move in with him, but by the time August rolled around, the artist had found himself a new muse. Francine, not one to tuck her tail and run, decided to stay in town and live as a permanent thorn in the side of her ex, and so far, it was working. Everyone in town already liked her better than him.

When they got into the store, Francine went into a trance and let the warm air wash over her. “Thank you so much. I think you just saved my life.”

“Psssh,” Ryan waved it away, “I wouldn’t go that far. What I want to know is what you’re doing out in a blizzard without a proper coat, gloves, hat or boots. Jesus, did no one tell you it gets cold up here?”

“I’m saving up my tips to buy myself a nice coat for Christmas. I didn’t realize Winter started in November here.”

“Oh yeah, and this isn’t even as bad as it gets.”

“I swear to god, if you say ‘this is nothing’ to me, I’m gonna freak out.”

“No, no, this is definitely something. You did pretty well to make it all the way from Lil’ Bob’s to here. I mean, for a total winter noob, that’s impressive.” He guided her over to the pharmacy counter and sat her down in the chair where the old people would wait while their prescriptions were being filled. “Let me get you something warm. Not too late for coffee, I hope?”

Francine smiled. It felt nice to have a drink made for her for a change. “Not at all.”

“How do you take it?”

“Black.”

“Ah, a woman of taste,” Ryan grinned as he poured her cup. “This stuff is a personal favorite of mine. Comes from Costa Rica.”

He handed her the cup and she put the rim up to her lips, letting the steam roll up her face. Heaven.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” she said.

“Obviously, you’ve never been in here before. My family owns this place, so I’ve been here all day, every day, since I was fifteen. I know everyone who walks through those doors.”

“Yeah, well I shop at the Save-A-Ton that’s near I-75,” and then Francine could almost hear something breaking in Ryan.

“Oh man,” he winced, “We blow that place out of the water. Out of the water.”

“Oh, y’all are that good, huh?” she sassed.

“We are and I can prove it,” said Ryan.

“Alright, cocky, prove it. Show me something.”

Ryan clapped his hands, turned on his heels and jumped on the back of a cart, which he pushed down the aisles like a scooter.

He was awful cute, Francine had to admit to herself. She sipped at her coffee and let the warmth paint the feeling back into her fingers and toes. Three minutes later, Ryan was back with a cart full of groceries.

He opened up a vinyl tablecloth and spread it across a checkstand conveyor belt, then laid the food out buffet style.

“Here we have some of the finest items the store has to offer: Marinated garlic and mushrooms -- those are from the olive bar; a selection of cheeses: bleu, gorgonzola, and a local white cheddar, which is a personal fave.” Ryan rummaged through the cart. “Then, let’s see... oh look at these strawberries! You can’t get strawberries this fresh anywhere else in town; we import them directly from Florida, and if I may be so bold, I’d suggest dipping the strawberries in our house made chocolate mousse I pulled straight from the dessert case.” Ryan arched an eyebrow as if to claim victory. “Now, how’s that compare to the dreck they sell at Save-A Ton?” So smug, but so adorable. Damn these Michigan boys.

Francine copped a wry smile. “But there’s a problem.”

Ryan’s eyebrows fell an inch. “Problem? What problem?”

“All this food and nothing to drink?” She clicked her tongue. Ryan smacked his forehead with an open palm.

“Jeez, I always do that. Sorry, I’m just really into food.”

“And I’m really into wine.”

“Well, let’s take a walk down aisle twelve.”

They strolled over to the wine section. Francine had warmed up enough that she didn’t need her bulky coats and sweatshirt, and she was down to just her flowy, button-down blouse and a tight pair of black jeans, which were still wet at the cuffs from all the snow.

On the overhead speakers, Sting’s “Fields of Gold” came on and Francine began to sway to the sappy soft rock beat.

“Come on, I know you know this one,” she nudged Ryan.

“I know all of them. These songs are on an endless loop, but it’s been a while since I’ve really listened to them.”

Francine closed her eyes and began to sing along, her smoky, soulful voice pairing nicely with Sting’s smooth timbre: Feel her body rise / when you kiss her mouth / among the fields of gold. When she opened her eyes, she saw Ryan looking back at her, lost in his own field of gold. She knew it was her mouth he wanted to kiss, and her body he wanted to rise. She smiled, knowing she had him, then she reached behind him and pulled a bottle of merlot from the shelf.

“This is the one,” Francine said, her voice dripping with honey, “this one will do just fine.”

Then the power went out.

“Damn, I was worried about that happening,” Ryan muttered.

“Oh god, are we going to freeze to death?” said Francine, her voice void of all the honey it once held, now filled with fear.

“Nah, we’ve got plenty of time before the heat leaks out of here completely. Time enough to enjoy this, anyhow.” He took the bottle of wine from her hand, then replaced it with his own hand. “Come on,” he said, utterly calm, “the candles are on aisle fourteen."

They ate their food and drank their wine by the light of a scented candle, which smelled of tobacco and mahogany. They talked about their lives, about the town, about her home in Florida. Pretty soon, Francine caught a shiver, and that’s when Ryan excused himself to pull on a sweatshirt. “Be right back,” he said before pulling open the glass doors and braving the wind and the snow to walk out to the lone SUV parked in the lot. Francine watched as he wiped the snow off the driver’s side door with his sleeve, then jumped in the car to start it up. Michigan boys.

When Ryan came back in, he was shivering from the cold, and his cheeks and the tip of his nose glowed bright red, which somehow made him even cuter in Francine’s book. She tipped back the last of the wine in her cup, then beamed at him. The flame of the candle danced in her eyes. Ryan was so transfixed by the sight of her that he almost forgot to speak.

“The car should be warmed up enough by now,” he stammered.

Then, they were two bundled up shadows racing through the parking lot. The moon was so full and the snow was so thick that the sky shone bright pink, almost as light as day. This time, Ryan held her by the hand as he led her through the snow.

When they piled into the warm car, the kissing began almost immediately and the layers began to peel off -- so many layers. His mouth was warm and tasted like merlot -- plum and currant and blackberry. She was losing herself in the warmth and the wine and the wind howling outside. Then, a thought triggered in her brain and she pulled away. “Oh Ryan,” she said with a coy smile.

“Yes, Francine?” he played along.

“You didn’t happen to pick up any condoms while you were at the store, did you dear?”

Ryan smacked himself in the forehead again and groaned, “Aisle fifteen,” he said. Without a moment’s delay, he was jumping out of the car, with nothing but his boots on, and started running. Francine watched him through the tiny square of windshield that wasn’t caked in snow as he sprinted all the way back to the store, naked as a jaybird. She shook her head and smiled. Michigan boys.