Douglas Nitty
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Thinking back, it wasn't that cold, was it? I'd scraped the frost off the inside of the front window and saw the tall, slender woman struggling with the box. She was moving in next door. I didn't get much of a look at her. The frost, you see. That and that massive coat she was wearing. But she looked sexy enough for me to get off my ass and venture out into the snow to help her. "Moving in, I see." She looked at me with that boy-are-you-stupid stare and sat the box down on the icy front step that led to the little two-bedroom bungalow that had sat empty since October when old Granny Watkins decided, probably against her will, to join that bridge foursome in heaven. I tried to smile through my