The magic of snow while driving with you

This is a retelling of a short story I wrote in 2023 for a blizzard challenge prompt! 
___________

You drove me home that day, January's cold, bitter sky above us. You had driven me home before, but that day felt different than all the other days. It was something in the air, maybe the way the clouds hung low in the sky, draining the color from everything. Like always, I settled into the passenger seat, turning the radio loud enough to drown out my mind. You pulled away from the building, finger-tapping the wheel, in time with the bass drum. I noticed each time you missed a beat, after all, music was never your strong suit. I watch the clouds and wonder if it is going to snow. I smile to myself as my thoughts drift to hot cocoa, skiing, and trying to ice skate. I remember how I would call you on the telephone and ask you to come over. Send you home, drenched and laughing. I watched my pink, small hands, compared to your big, tan ones, gripping the heated steering wheel. 

“Look, it's snowing.” You say gently, but I still startle, for some reason, your hands distract me now.  I grin and watch as the snow falls harder and harder. You stop driving when we reach the twisty road, saying how you keep forgetting to put on the snow tires even though it’s already almost December. So we stop, and I look over at you.

"How was your day?" you ask, turning the radio down to a low hum, and I hope it's more to hear me than to hear the soft hush of snow falling late at night. 

"Max is failing Spanish," I say, "he deserves it."

You laugh, and I swear you look at me just a little too long. 

"The snow looks like a million tiny stars," I said

"You're right." You reply, as if sounding like you had never thought of that till I said it. "It's beautiful." And I think for a fleeting moment you mean me, from the way you look into my eyes. 

I look back into your eyes, trying to ignore the nerves zapping like lightning through my veins, and give a silent dare to run into the frozen world. You nod and dash out of the car. I grin and follow in your huge boot prints. Your eyes sparkle with joy, and I find that I can not look away. It was like you had taken a rope and tied my heart to yours. You look at me, then, and the snowflakes on your eyelashes. Out of instinct, I grab your hand on my own. 

"Hi." You say 

"Hi," I say, "you have snowflakes on your eyelashes," 

You reach up with your free hand and brush them away, then look down at me again.

"You have snow in your hair." 

"Oh," I say, reaching up to dust off the flakes.

"Wait." You say, catching my hand.

I look up at you as you move to brush the snow out of my hair, and I feel my stomach drop down, down, down.

You gently hold my chin in your warm hand and pull my face up until I have to meet your eyes. 

"Jules." You say in a deep voice, "Can I know you like he did?"

I try to answer, but I find my ability to speak has left me. So I nod instead. I look into your eyes, coming closer and closer to my own, and feel your breath on my lips. I close my eyes as I feel your lips meet mine. 

And I knew this would not be the last time. I would ask for a drive in a snowstorm, because I knew you would dance in falling snow, only to hold me in your arms. I knew I could look into your endless eyes, see those snowflakes, and know you are mine. And I swore on those snowy nights you thought I was beautiful.