Snowbound - Harlequin.com

210 SNOWBOUND
THE FIRST DAYS were wonderful. Fiona didn’t think
she’d ever been happier in her life.
She got up early and kneaded dough while he heated
the ovens and spooned muffins into tins. Once the bread
was in the oven, she slipped on a wool sweater and
stepped outside on the front porch with him, each of
them cradling a mug of coffee, to watch dawn lighten
the sky. The first morning it came gradually, charcoalgray
becoming infinitesimally paler shades until they
could see fine snowflakes floating toward the ground,
moving so slowly it was as if time itself had slowed, too.
The second morning, she understood why John didn’t
care that no movie theater was within driving distance.
Hollywood couldn’t touch this show.
The colors alone stole her breath. She had seen
glorious sunsets, but these colors had more delicacy.
She couldn’t have named the vivid hues. The words
“pink” or “peach” were woefully inadequate. And all
the while, the world was utterly silent, as if it, too, held
its breath.
When the show was done and morning arrived, she
looked up at John and said, voice hushed, “I never knew
what I was missing.”
“It’s not the same down there.” He, too, spoke quietly,
as if out of respect. “Until I came up here, I didn’t know.”
“Surely in Iraq, with open desert…”
He shook his head. This time, his voice was flat.
“No. Dawn there…it was splashier.”
Yes, that was the word she’d have used for sunsets
on the coast, where she and her family used to vacation.
“I’d better check the bread.” He turned and went in,