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chose ended up being bitterly cold, with winds threatening to pull down trees and the power lines connecting the south end of the island to the north. Instead of going out, I offered to pick up dinner and have her over to my house. If the power did go out, I at least had a generator unlike where Diane lived. Maggie always enjoyed “disconnecting” and would live by candlelight and the wood stove. She had all sorts of romantic notions of winter on Whidbey. I wondered how Diane would fair if we did lose power for the night. Or a couple of days. Not unusual if we had high winds or ice.
    After texting about our likes and “never on my pizza”, I had a Hawaiian pizza with jalapeños keeping warm in the oven when Diane appeared at my door. She was dressed for the Arctic in a black parka down to her knees with fur around the hood.
    Stepping aside, I let her into the house where she shook off her coat and stamped her feet on the mat. The porch light illuminated the rain pouring down sideways with the wind. If the temperatures dropped a few degrees, we could get snow. Or ice.
    “Where are your sled dogs?” I couldn’t help but tease her.
    She blinked up at me and ran her other hand through her hair, tousling the waves before they fell around her shoulders. Shrugging off her big coat, I could see she wore that baggy gray sweater of hers and tight jeans showing off the curve of her thighs. Unfortunately, the ugly sweater covered her ass. Pity.
    “Sled dogs?” she asked, leaning down to scratch Babe’s ears, who sniffed around her boots.
    “Yeah, with your parka I thought you might have sled dogs.” My joke fell flat.
    “Oh, no. No sled dogs. That’s my city winter jacket. It gets much colder back east, and in the city you walk everywhere, you need the big coat,” she said, explaining what didn’t need explaining. Awkward silence settled between us.
    “Pizza’s in the oven. Hot Hawaiian like we decided,” I said, filling the space.
    “I brought wine.” Her voice rose as if this could be the salvation we needed. She pulled a bottle of red out of the pocket of her coat from where I hung it on the hooks by the door. “I had no idea what you liked or if you even like wine. I bought a Pinot Noir. Figured everyone likes that. Do you drink wine? Should I have brought beer?”
    Her nervousness was charming, but I wasn’t sure what it meant.
    “Pinot’s fine. Three things we do well up here in the land of gray are: coffee, beer, and wine. All necessary supplies to get through a long winter.”
    “I like that list. What about chocolate? Man, or woman, has to eat.”
    “Yes, the fourth category for survival is chocolate. Maybe following fish.”
    I walked into the L-shaped kitchen to grab a couple of wine glasses. She pulled up a bar stool at the counter and surveyed the space.
    “I like your house. It’s, um …” She paused, clearly searching for the right word. “… Masculine.”
    I chuckled in response. Masculine was a good way to describe my cabin. I’d taken it over from my aunt and uncle who still lived on the island but built a larger home in the woods. I tried to observe the room from her point of view. Knotty pine walls, fishing photos, and a mounted king salmon above the couch my grandfather caught definitely gave the room a “masculine” feel. The furniture wasn’t fancy, or as Kelly said “current,” but it was sturdy and more importantly, comfortable. My aunt had sewn denim covers for the sofa facing the flat screen over the fireplace. A pair of leather chairs flanked the sofa and my collection of old soccer trophies along with old photos lined some shelves.
    “Well, I’m a man and I live here alone, so masculine works for me.” I watched her nod while taking in the details of the room.
    “I like it. It’s cozy.” She gave me a genuine smile, her first of the night.
    “Cozy it is. Ready to eat, or do you want to hang out a while?”
    “Let’s eat. I’m starved. Can I help?”
    “Nope. I