A Michigan Valentine

I rode passenger to him, as he silently drove us up north. It was a comfortable silence. I stared out the window at the silhouette of the snowy pine trees. He chuckled at me as I practiced french adjectives. Every once in a while he'd say them too, curious to see how the words would sound on his foreign tongue. To me, it sounded beautiful. But he could say anything to me with those perfect lips and I would flutter about. Our pearl SUV winded around the twisty roads as I carefully watched for deer. I had yet to ever harm the graceful creature, and I wasn't about to start now. When we finally reached our destination, we noticed the foot of snow covering the driveway. There was no other option, We parked at the bottom of the hill and grabbed our backpacks as we began to trek through the cold and fluffy powder. We went up the hill as fast as we could, laughing when our feet would go to deep. Finally we made it inside. The flowery fresh smell of the air flooded our nostrils. It was so great to be back. He told me to sit down and relax as he started a fire. Soon enough, the fire began to roar and crackle as I sat, snuggled under a knit blanket. Carla Bruni and her album, "Little French Songs" played softly in the background. I stared out the window at the frozen lake, shimmering under the full moon. He scurried around the kitchen, preparing a diner he had planned, as I sat peacefully soaking in every moment. Dinner was ready as I walked over to the carefully set table and saw penne pasta, smoked salmon alfredo, and two soft crab cakes, along with two glasses filled with merlot that he had gifted to me earlier. He was my Michigan Valentine, and he was perfect.