The UnLucky Flannel
666 Words
The morning of December 26th arrived with a hush that only a heavy snowfall can provide. In Maple Creek, this was the day of "The Great Thaw," where families lingered in pajamas and the pressure of the holiday officially exhaled. Inside the guesthouse, the air was warm with the scent of coffee and the embers of last night’s fire.
Rowan was already up, leaning against the kitchen counter in a new navy flannel, watching the snow pile up against the stone window frame.
"You look like you're plotting something," Elara said, emerging from the bedroom wrapped in a thick wool cardigan.
"I am," Rowan said, stepping forward to pull her into his arms. "I’m plotting how to convince your brother Ben that I don't need to learn how to ice fish. He called ten minutes ago. Apparently, today is 'Man Day' on the frozen lake."
"Oh, you're doomed," Elara laughed, leaning her head against his chest. "Ben is the king of the ice. If you survive his interrogation on the lake, you're officially a Winters."
The afternoon was a chaotic, beautiful mess. The entire family converged on the local sledding hill, a massive incline known as "The Devil’s Tail." The air was filled with the sound of screaming children and the rhythmic thump of plastic sleds hitting the snow.
"You're not serious," Rowan said, staring up at the steep, icy hill.
"What? Millionaire architects don't sled?" Elara teased, adjusting her new boots.
"We value structural integrity, Elara. That hill looks like a lawsuit waiting to happen."
"Stop being an engineer and be a boyfriend. Grab the red sled."
They flew down the hill together, Elara tucked between Rowan’s legs. The wind bit at their cheeks, and Elara’s laughter was caught in her throat as they hit a bump, sending them spinning into a drift at the bottom. They landed in a heap, limbs tangled, covered in white powder.
"Structural failure," Rowan panted, wiping snow from his eyelashes as he looked down at her. "Total collapse of the plan."
"But was it worth it?"
"Every second," he whispered, kissing her cold nose.
Later, they gathered at Ben and Chloe’s house for a "leftover's feast." The house was a fortress of warmth. Ben stood by the stove, stirring a massive pot of turkey chili.
"So, Rowan," Ben called out. "I hear you did well on the hill. But can you handle a deck of cards? We play for high stakes here. Loser does the dishes for the rest of the week."
"I think I can manage," Rowan said, sitting at the table and rolling up his sleeves.
"He's a shark, Ben," Elara warned, sitting beside Chloe. "Don't let the nice smile fool you."
The dialogue flowed like the cider they were sipping.
"Do you ever miss the city, Rowan?" Chloe asked, passing a bowl of corn bread.
"Right now? Not even a little," Rowan said, his eyes finding Elara’s.
"What about the skyscrapers?" Toby asked, climbing onto Rowan’s lap. "Can you build one in my backyard?"
"Maybe a treehouse first, Toby," Rowan laughed. "Gotta check the zoning laws."
"He’s actually doing it," Sarah whispered to Elara in the kitchen. "He’s fitting in. Mark used to sit in the corner and check his watch every five minutes."
"Mark didn't know how to play the game," Elara said, watching Rowan bluff Dave out of a hand of poker.
As the night wound down, the family huddled around the living room. Rowan was in the thick of it, sharing stories of his first construction jobs while the kids fell asleep on the rug.
"I think they love you more than they love me now," Elara joked as they walked back to the SUV.
"It’s the flannel," Rowan said, pulling her close. "It’s a very persuasive fabric."
"It's not the flannel, Rowan. It's you."
- Writer
