Drop #1: A Chilly Wind

We’re all bundled up. I lead him through the cold cobbled streets to my favorite little café.

‘Lets sit near the door.’


‘I have a reason,’ I say, smiling.


It’s toasty in there with the heating on high and we take off our layers. We order cheese croquettes, a mulled wine for me and a red for him.

‘Let’s see what this Malbec is all about,’ he says when the waitress waddles off. He’s so cute when he says stuff like that, acting all serious.

We’re already eating when someone finally comes in, letting a slice of chilly wind through the door as she does, and for those few seconds, the cold latches onto us and refreshes like nothing else. Then the door closes and the heat slowly claims control once more.

‘Nice, right?’

‘The sliver of cold cutting through the heat of this place, you mean?’

‘Exactly!’  I knew he’d get it. It’s a specific thrill I’ve wanted to share with him for some time, and I have plenty more lined up too. We’ve been together four months now and I’m ready to get closer. He’s the first guy who made me feel comfortable in bed, and as a result, really enjoy sex. I’ve never felt so good about my silly little body, my happy little boobs, and my skinny little ass. He always treats them all as if they were long sought after treasures.

Four months, yes, and great ones too, but I feel we are just getting started, that things are just getting good. And this is the perfect night, and perfect place to start moving forward, sharing my special chilly wind and the warmth of my favorite croquettes.

‘Aren’t the croquettes great?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. They’re good.’ Steam leaves his mouth with his words.

‘So, how’s the Malbec?’

‘Not half bad,’ he says after tilting his head, pushing out his lips and nodding. ‘A bit aggressive up front, but decent overall.’

‘Good.’ His earnestness makes me giggle. ‘I’m glad.’

A couple comes in, struggling with the door, letting in a rush of cold comfort, and I share the simple pleasure with my man. Everything is just perfect, and everywhere inside, I’m smiling. It just feels so nice. The word gets a bum rap but sometimes things are just nice, and life is just good.

I reach a hand across the table but he doesn’t meet it, grabbing his wine glass instead and taking a gulp.

‘We have to talk,’ he says coldly. ‘I’ve met someone else.’

The door swings open. It’s a meaty man with small eyes. I reach for my scarf.

By E.M. Vireo


About EM Vireo
flooding the world with fiction

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