Flash Fiction Valentines Day

Snow gusted down the empty street in the shadows of the office towers behind me as I slowly exited the highway. Winter storm warnings blasted the city on the last business day before the Valentines Day week-end. Through a mosaic windshield of ice I watched as a man in a flannel coat and a wind-tossed maroon tie swept the young woman off her feet and carried her over the slush near the curb and into the warm entrance of Katzinger's Deli. From the street I imagined the warmth of her arms around him and the welcoming aroma of charcuterie and hot soup. From the street I saw the dark wooden door and the gold gilt lettering and imagined whispered love deep within the worn leather booths. My car lurched forward, skidding on the slippery snow covered street and the chivalry a memory lost in the swirl of deep winter. There would be no chivalry for me. I would not carry my lover over the threshold of a big city deli or feed her chicken soup from my spoon or save her feet from wet winter puddles. Instead, she would leave the door of the motel off the interstate creased open with a rock from the border next to the sidewalk and the door to Room 102 ajar. We would embrace near the desk, our hands still cold from the wind and shoes damp with snow; our breath fresh with peppermint and cinnamon. Snow beat on the windows of the room as I picked her up and carried her over the damp carpet to the bed. Hardly chivalrous in this stolen forbidden moment.