Who Really Likes Winter?

     "It's pretty," She mused, tilting her head as she looked at the blossoming flower poking itself halfheartedly out of the soil bordering the sidewalks. "But I like winter better."
     "Said no one ever."
     "So I'm nobody now, is that it?" The sideways glance had him stopping cold as she turned the scrutiny towards him, the one person she'd managed to convince to come with her on this venture out into the world. Finally winter had lifted, the weather allowing for long walks along the back roads of tiny, quaint neighborhoods that made up their little town. Summersville, population thirty-thousand, so very relieved to see the spring approaching that they'd all broken out of their forced seclusions to breathe in fresh air again. But Sibley had done so out of need more than want, dragging her downstairs neighbor along for the stroll. "Really, Glenn, you've spent more hours in front of your computer playing Warcraft than I have outdoors, so don't start with the judging. We can turn back at any time."
     "I didn't say you were nobody, Sib. I said that no one actually likes winter that much. Sports enthusiasts, people who build snowmen, and aspiring Eskimos. You only stay inside because you don't like people."
     "I like people just fine."
     "When that couple walking their greyhound back there said hi to us, you looked at them like they could give you herpes. Don't tell me that's 'liking' people."
     "They could give me herpes. People aren't infallible, you know. They get diseases. But when I'm in my apartment with the cat, I'm fine. The cat doesn't have herpes."
     "I've seen your cat with the neighborhood strays. I'm not willing to bet good money against your cat's body running rampant with sexually transmitted diseases." He'd brushed up against her while they were walking, and reached out to gently pick a strand of hair from the sleeve of her coat. "Sibley, you've got to face it- you have a thing about people. You really have to get out more."
     "The next person who says that to me gets a mouthful of that grimy dirt the snowplows left behind." One of the offending snowplows drove by at that moment, a straggler presumably on its way to the DOT garage to be tucked away for the spring. No snow was on the horizon, no winter storm threatening the annihilation of the entire eastern United States, and once the weather stations had sounded the all-clear the town had begun their recovery process. She wondered what would happen if a freak storm rolled in at that very moment and whisked away all of the unsuspecting house escapees before they could see it coming, and the image of people flying away on gusts of wind brought a smile to her face.
     "What's so funny?"
     "Nothing- nothing you'd find so funny, anyway." Glenn Kendricks had been her downstairs neighbor as long as she'd lived in her tiny, one bedroom apartment overlooking the city. She'd long ago learned that while he was a fantastic ear for her problems and an even more fantastic cook, his sense of humor didn't quite match up with her own slightly warped amusement. But she was used to it- always had been. "Let's go, all right? I'd really like to get back before it starts to get cold. I bet we're just waiting for one last deep freeze."
     "You talk as if you know something. I don't think we'll be seeing any more of winter- you're gonna have come out of that place again sometime." His hand was soft in it's fleece glove as he reached up to pick another hair off of her- from the back of her neck this time, and his breath was warm in it's wake. "It was nice today, you asking me to come with you. I think we should do it again."
     "If we get the chance." She looked up at the sky- it really DID look deceptively blue, with a few fluffy white clouds in the distance. These clouds didn't look like anything special, but she as much as anyone knew just how appearances could easily mask the underlying nature of someone or something until it was too late to do anything but take what came along. "But you never know. Those clouds could be dangerous."
     "It's not like we're going to be getting acid rain. Worse case is that we see a bit more snow. And I haven't put away my shovel yet, unlike any of these idiots." They'd strolled past a house whose garage gaped open to reveal a snowblower already shrouded in a tarp, shovels tucked up in the eaves that ran above a parked SUV.