“I shoveled a path from the driveway to your shed,” Fitz says with his back to me while stirring something on the stove that smells savory, garlicky, and delicious. “So you don’t have to track snow through the house or remove your boots only to take ten steps and have to put them back on.” “Then you wouldn’t get to see my lovely face.” I slip off my boots and tug at my scarf. “I’d get by.”
