Page 1 of Winter Longing
Chapter One
Buffalo, NY
2024
Cole ducked his head against the driving wind and crossed the street, thankful that the wind was not yet—or again—accompanied by snow. Ahead stood the Swan Street Diner, which was fronted by an old train car and boasted a long counter with red leather stools. Seating was limited, with five booths of the same red leather made just for two and only a handful more larger booths and tables, each of which would comfortably fit four. It was Aunt Rosie’s favorite place for breakfast so even though snow was expected, and he’d offered to drive out of the city for their weekly breakfast, she’d opted to drive into Buffalo.
“If I can’t drive in Buffalo snow by now, at sixty-one years old,” she’d texted him yesterday, “I got no business driving at all.”
Aunt Rosie was basically the only family Cole had left in Buffalo. His parents were both gone, he had no siblings, and he wasn’t married. So it was just her—and she took that role seriously. Every week, no matter what, they had breakfast together after his shift at the firehouse. Fortunately, Aunt Rosie had retired early, so she could work around his consistent but unusual shift schedule. He worked a 24-hour shift on Day One of the week, which was Tuesday this week, followed by 24 hours off, then another 24-hour shift on Day Three—Thursday this week. After that, he’d get five days off before the cycle repeated. Since it was Friday, he was already done for the week, even though he’d only worked two days. But regardless of when his week ended, he and Aunt Rosie always met for breakfast after his second shift.
The wind tugged at the door of the diner as he opened it, but Cole’s grip held firm. He stomped his boots on the black commercial rug just inside the entrance, knocking off snow that had fallen two days earlier. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to tame the mess the wind had made of it.
As he passed the counter, he gave a quick nod and half-smile to Kirsten, the long-time server who stared wide-eyed while she absently refilled salt and peppers. Cole’s smile faded as soon as he moved out of her line of sight.
Kirsten had gushed over him, embarrassingly loud, when that ridiculous calendar came out a few months ago, causing Cole to instantly regret his participation. Buffalo’s shirtless fireman calendar wasn’t a new concept, but this was his first year in it. Combine that with adorable puppies from the rescue of the charity being supported—one of which he’d have adopted if his schedule wasn’t so crazy—and it became the talk of the city for weeks. He’d been July’s image, and thanks to his MVP status from the Buffalo Bandits’ championship lacrosse season, his photo had made the rounds on TV and social media more than anyone else’s.
He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the attention. Not the constant ogling, at least. He’d be lying if he said his ego hadn’t swelled a bit at first, but the novelty had worn off fast. Now, whenever women started fawning over him or if they simply stared overlong—talking about you, Kirsten—it was just awkward. And the guys at the firehouse, even those who’d taken part in the charity calendar themselves, would not let him forget it.
Aunt Rosie had already arrived—no surprise there. She had her back to him, but her smile was instant and wide as he showed himself, kissing her cheek before sliding into the booth across from her.
“There you are,” she said. “Did you skate unnoticed by what’s-her-name behind the counter or did she eat you alive again? That girl needs a man—not you, of course; she’s not your type—but a man for sure.”
Cole smiled. He loved his mother’s sister. Aunt Rosie was practical, no-nonsense, and called it like she saw it. She always said what she meant and meant what she said. She didn’t whine, rarely complained about people, and was never—ever—without a smile. And she had plenty of opinions about everything and everyone. Curiously, Cole never felt like she was judging anyone. Instead, it was more like she saw the solution to whatever their problem was—if only they’d had asked her or listened to her.
“Sally Shriner’s walking like she’s got one leg shorter than the other. Should’ve went to Dr. Philips for the hip replacement like I told her and not that butcher on the West Side.”
“Pete Shaughnessy—remember him from high school? He married Tamara Barkley last weekend. Of course they don’t call them shotgun weddings anymore, but that’s what it was. I told his mother she would trap him, didn’t I?”
“Father Rob says hello and goodbye. He’s being transferred up to some church in Lewiston, so there goes that, the only priest I ever liked at Saint Barbara’s and they’re putting him out to pasture because he made some comment—totally blown out of proportion, mind you—about Connie Blecker’s boobs. What? Like you never noticed them? C’mon, they’re visible from the space shuttle for crying out loud.”
Rosie was nothing if not entertaining. She knew everybody, from all different parts of Western New York and from all walks of life, and could have—Cole’s mother had often said about her sister—‘talked Christ off the cross.’ She knew more than half the guys at the firehouse, having taught elementary school in the city for thirty years.
Coffee was already waiting for Cole, courtesy of Rosie.
“We’ll have the usual, right Cole?” She said when Kirsten ambled over, cheeks ablaze while her gaze fixed almost too purposefully on Rosie. “The veggie benny for me and he’ll have the regular eggs benedict. Side of bacon and a side order of pancakes for him, also.” Rosie put her hand to the side of her mouth and said, in what Cole’s mom used to call her ‘sober Irish whisper’, “He’d order himself but sometimes the Tourette’s twitch is out of hand and clamping his lips really saves him tons of mortification.”
Cole did clamp his lips, but only to keep from laughing. From the day Kirsten had begun her fangirling, Rosie had introduced a new disease, condition, or disorder each week, intending, she’d said, to dissuade the server from her crush.
A sneak peak at Kirsten before she skipped away with the menus showed her eyeing Cole with what looked like adoring pity.
Rosie shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she’s a glutton who loves a good project.”
“Might be,” Cole said, shaking his head and grinning. “And you’ve made me quite the project—Tourette syndrome now? An actual condition? On top of all the fictional ones you’ve invented for me?”
“Well, hell’s bells. I thought for sure the mention of a chronic case of IBS would have turned her off for good. I couldn’t think of anything else that wouldn’t have killed you by now.” Rosie leaned forward and giggled like a woman much younger. “She probably googled the shit out of Aphylactic Myelitis a few weeks back—I was certainly proud of that one.”
“And Syndrome Xytoplasia,” Cole reminded her, the only other fake ailment his aunt had used whose name he could remember.
“That was a good one, too” Rosie decided, beaming with pride.
“I’m surprised I can still work,” he teased.
“Ah, but you’re a trooper, not about to let a little rare genetic disease get you down.”
“You’re nuts, you know that?”
“Not yet, but I probably should lay off the sci-fi books for a while.”
