NOTE: This is an on-going story (in ten parts) entitled "The Blizzard Coat."
To become more familiar with this entry, be sure to read back posts that entail earlier "parts."
When Annalie went away to college, she loved to sit at Clever Grounds Coffee Shop in chilly Grand Folks, North Dakota and stare into the outside world. The place wasn’t crowded with college students in the early chilly mornings, and she often parked herself in front of the window; the people rushing from store to store under their hats and scarves amused her. While partaking in this favorite past time one morning, and sipping a large mug of the shop's signature flavor Christmas in a Cup, she unexpectedly met her future husband, Edwin Evans.
He was trekking through the mounting snow, gracefully stumbling over the heaps that the plows had accumulated against the curb. Short strands of brown hair peeked out from underneath his leather and sheepskin bomber hat. He didn’t bother to wear a coat, only an extra large University of North Dakota sweatshirt that was sodden in melted snowflakes by the time he stumbled into the coffee shop. Annalie eye’s followed him as his wet shoes squeaked across the black and white linoleum floor; she became intrigued by the cheekiness he flaunted towards the weather.
She overheard him ask for an advertisement he needed to collect for The Dakota Student newspaper. “Hold on a sec,” the petite barista said with an annoyed tone. She flipped her long auburn hair over her shoulder and disappeared behind a swinging door.
While he waited, the young man turned around, leaned on the counter with his elbows and surveyed the few people seeking refuge in the tiny shop. He caught Annalie’s gaze and smiled. She returned a blank stare, much like a deer caught in headlights, and then pulled her textbook a few inches higher to cover her face.
“Here, this is what he left on his desk,” the petite barista shoved a manila folder into his hands and he thanked her.
He made his way to the door and paused abruptly, as if he had stepped into a puddle of quick drying super glue. “The Biogenetic Foundation of Literary Representation?” A mixture of astonishment and threat coated his words.
Annalie brought the book down a few inches, revealing her eyes and the bridge of her nose, knowing that he was reading the title of the book she was holding. “I don’t even understand the title; do you even know what you’re reading?”
Feeling offended, a cold rigidness breezed briefly upon Annalie’s face. “My major is biogenetic engineering,” she said matter-of-factly.
He could only form his mouth into a surprised, “Oh,” and stared at the book, no doubt trying to translate the title into layman’s terms.
“Are you intimidated?” Annalie asked with a smirk.
“A little,” he said, creasing his brow. His gaze shifted from the book to her, “I’m Eddie.”
She observed his demeanor for a few moments and decided to let go of the offense she took to his earlier comment. “Annalie,” she replied.
“So what exactly does a biogenetic engineer do?” Eddie asked, thinking he gotten the green light. He sat down at the chair opposite from Annalie and ordering a tall, foamy Steamline Express from the barista. Annalie sighed in defeat; he was going to stick around for a while, so Annalie began to explain her exciting world of biogenetics to the man who was soaked in winter pennies.
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