February settled over the city like something that had decided to stay.
Not the aggressive cold of January. That had been sharp and purposeful, the kind of cold that had an opinion about you. February was different. Quieter. The kind of cold that simply existed, gray and patient, the city moving through it with the resigned efficiency of people who had accepted that winter was going to take its time and had stopped arguing about it.
I found I didn't mind.
February had always been my least favorite month. The dead middle of things, too far from Christmas to borrow its warmth and too far from spring to borrow its promise. The month that sat in the calendar like a waiting room.
This February was different.
This February I woke up most mornings with his coffee on my counter or mine on his
