The figure rattled the handles of the French doors.
Fina took a tentative step closer.
“Fina! It’s me, Ian,” came the muffled cry.
“Ian!” The figure took shape, becoming a person she knew. Of course it was Ian. She could tell now by the way he was knocking on the windowpane.
After unlatching the door, Fina invited both Ian and the winter inside. The snow swirled in through the billiard room like an uninvited guest seeking a drink. The flakes flew at the fire before melting instantly in mid-air.
Ian did his best to shake off his own snow in a corner by the French windows. He looked like a snowman. His distinctive eyebrows were lined with frost and the top of his woollen hat had a dimple where a pile of snow had settled in.
Fina closed the door on the uninvited winter guest and helped
