Falling in Love

"I don't know why you have to say things like that," Mel said, as they walked home in the snow.

"Things like what?" Paul asked, concentrating on where he placed his feet, his coccyx still reminding him pointedly about a fall from some time ago.

The snow was descending and it was really quite pretty. The night was dark and ovals lightly floated past black, the flakes swirling and circling as they fell. Romantic, Paul thought, as his foot glided on a hidden sheet, disguised by the treacherous snow. He loved snow but it was his enemy.

Mel was striding ahead. "Those personal comments about me. 'Mel loves it when I cook dinner. Makes her feel dominant' or 'Mel loves it when I clean the toilets so she doesn't have to deal with my crap.' It makes me sound like I'm bossing you around all the time. Like I'm some sort of diva."

Paul was surprisingly quiet. He would normally have tried to defend himself but there was no response.

She turned around. There was no sign of him. Where had he gone?

"Paul? Paul!" she called and ran back, worried about where he'd disappeared to.

When he'd slipped, in his mad scramble, he'd fell and rolled into the ditch at the side of the path.

When Mel caught up to him, he was spitting snow from his mouth and looked ridiculous.

She was overwhelmed with relief and love. The man was inept socially and physically but he was hers.