In memory of Nicole Lewanski

A Snowflake in a Snowfield
.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What did you think?”
“It was beautiful. Read the whole thing in one sitting. That kid sure is
talented.”
“I thought you might like it.” I couldn’t help feeling a flush of pride.
She shot me a cautious look. “Have you spoken to him at all?”
“No.”
“You still miss him, though.” I nodded, and she gave me a sympathetic smile.
“You know, missing someone can sometimes be the best thing for a writer.”
L
ATER
THAT
AFTERNOON
, I met Rosie outside the diner, and we walked around
back to her old pickup truck. A short drive later, we arrived at the house, and
Rosie pulled into the driveway. It was a charming chalet made entirely from
timber, and it reminded me of a gingerbread house, especially with its quaint
sloping roof that was heavily caked with snow.
“It’s pretty,” I said.
“The lake is about a five-minute walk from here. It will be frozen over in a
month or two. The locals even skate on the outer edges.”
“Skating’s not really for me, but I bet the view will be stunning.”

---

We walked up the drive and knocked on the wood-paneled door.
A few moments later, it swung open, and we were greeted by a burly man
with a heavy beard wearing a red-and-white checkered shirt.
“Rosie!” he roared, pulling her into a bear hug. He swung his head back.
“Dale, they’re here!”
“This is the girl I was telling you about,” said Rosie when he let her go.
I heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and another man appeared at the
door. He had closely cropped hair, and his clean-shaven face was framed by a pair
of rimless glasses.
“Audrey, this is Graham, and this—” she motioned to the man in glasses, “is
his partner, Dale.”
“Hi,” I said.
“She’s gorgeous,” said Dale, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you,” I laughed.
A little Yorkie poked her head from behind his ankles. He scooped her up.
“And this little thing here is Apple.”
“Hi, Apple.” I reached down and stroked her head. She tipped her head back
and licked my fingers.
“Come in, come in,” said Graham, and we followed him inside.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” I said, as my eyes took in the wooden beams and their
quaint triangular formation. Expansive windows opened to a stunning view of
snowcapped mountains and fir trees dusted with white. The place was
immaculate and beautifully decorated with antiques, Persian rugs, and charming
lampshades; it was full of warm hues of red, pink, and earthy browns. A large
cream-colored couch wrapped around a roaring fire in the center of the room.
My heart gave a small flutter of hope. No more cold, damp nights at the motel if
this worked out for me.
Graham walked over to the bar and came back with two drinks in his hand.
“These are our famous Pink Flamingos,” he said, handing one to me and the
other to Rosie.
“Oh, these are legendary,” she said, taking a sip from her neon-green straw.
I took a sip of mine. It tasted like a mix of cotton candy, grapefruit, and
Cointreau.
“Yum,” I exclaimed as Dale winked at me.
We settled ourselves on the couch, and Apple bounded up into my lap.
“She likes you,” said Graham. “That’s always a good sign.”
I smiled. “I like her too.”

---

“So, Audrey, I suppose Rosie has told you we’re looking for a house sitter
while we’re away for the winter.”
“Yes, she has.”
“Our regular girl pulled out last minute. Met some guy and took off with him
to Spain—all quite sudden. These whirlwind romances.” He rolled his eyes. “So
we were in a bit of a fix until you showed up.”
“It was meant to be,” said Rosie.
“It seems that way, doesn’t it?” He smiled. “Now, Audrey, I’m sure you’re a
model citizen, but we’ll need two references from you. It’s just a standard thing
we do.”
“That’s fine. I was house-sitting in Sydney for my best friend’s uncle. I can get
a reference from him. And I’m sure my editor, Sam, would be happy to provide
one as well.”
“Perfect!” said Dale, clapping his hands together. “Let’s talk about payment.”
“Oh, no, I’m happy to do it free of charge, honestly. I mean, you’re the ones
who are doing me the favor. It’s been really hard finding a place, and I’ll be glad
to get out of that motel.”
“No, no, we insist.”
“No, really—”
“Oh, darling,” said Dale, his hand on my arm. “We don’t mind at all—
honestly.”
Graham chimed in. “Well, if it would make you feel better, why don’t you do
a little work for us on the side as well?”
“Work?”
“Of course!” said Dale, his eyes lighting up. “The antiques.”
Graham turned to me. “Dale and I import antiques, and we have a whole shed
full of them that need some TLC. So if you’d like, you can work on them while
we’re away. That would be perfect, actually. What do you think?”
“I’ve never worked with antiques before. Is it hard?”
“Not at all.” Graham waved his hand. “Easy as pie. We just need to have them
cleaned up and oiled. Dale and I will take you through it.”
“Sounds great! I’d love to make myself useful while I’m here.”
There was a 
ding 
sound.
“Aha! The Bombe Alaska’s ready,” said Dale, jumping to his feet. “Can you
give me a hand, Gray?”
“Sure.” Graham followed Dale into the kitchen.
“They’re smitten with you,” Rosie announced when they were out of earshot.

---

“I feel terrible about taking their money. Look at this place; I feel like I should
be paying them.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Audrey,” she said, patting me on the knee.
“They’re just thrilled to have found someone on such short notice. Besides,” she
winked, “they won’t miss the money, if you know what I mean.”
I looked around at the lavishly decorated room and nodded. “I suppose you’re
right. Well, hopefully I can make it up to them with the antiques.”
“That’s sweet of you, honey. They would really appreciate that.”
The two men came back with four slices of the Bombe Alaska served on bone
china plates. Dale handed one to me along with a spoon.
“Dig in.”
“You’re in for a treat, Audrey,” said Rosie. “Dale makes the best Bombe
Alaska.”
“I’d have to agree with you there,” said Graham.
I took a bite. It was phenomenal. The sponge was soft and sweet; the dark
chocolate ice cream was a perfect companion to the orange-flavored meringue.
“Wow, this is amazing, Dale.”
“I don’t know why you won’t give me the recipe,” said Rosie, after taking a
bite of hers.
“Sorry, darling, you know I promised my mother on her deathbed to keep it
secret. Anything else you are welcome to.”
“I got my gooseberry pie recipe from Dale,” she explained.
“Really? I’m impressed!”
“Oh stop it,” Dale said, but he looked immensely pleased.
A 
FEW
WEEKS
later, Graham and Dale left on their trip, and I settled into the
house. I was grateful to be out of the motel, and Apple was great company.
When the weather was good, I took her for walks around the lake where we fed
the ducks leftover bread and chatted with the locals. I often came across a lady
with a German shepherd who recommended a good coffee shop just minutes
away.
Spending time with the antiques turned out to be an unexpected joy. There
was an assortment of furniture in the shed—tables, chairs, side cabinets, and
writing desks that were old and tired, covered in dirt and dust. Dale and Graham
had shown me how to bring them to life again using stiff brushes, old rags, and
oil. The transformation was astonishing, and every new piece of furniture I

---

worked on gave me a sense of pride and satisfaction.
Some days I stayed in working on my book of short stories, stopping every so
often to admire the view. On the mantelpiece above the fire, I had put the snow
globe Rad gave me that night at Blues Point Park. I often wished I could call him
up and tell him I had made it to my little mountain town, that outside my
window I could see mountains capped in snow, and that I was writing the book I
had always wanted to write.
The isolation made me miss home, but I kept in regular contact with Lucy,
who was anxious to know every detail about my new life. I never asked her
about Rad, even though I wanted to, and she was careful to avoid the topic.
One morning, I logged onto my e-mail and saw Angie’s name in my inbox.
Since graduation, we had written to each other every now and then, but it had
been ages since I last heard from him. I clicked it open.