"Teta!"

Talia screamed at the top of her lungs as a medium-sized animal sprinted her way. The creature—she had no clue if it was a he or she yet—stopped at her feet and tried to lick her ankles.

"What's wrong, Talia?" Teta came scrambling into the kitchen, still dressed in her matching blue pajama set. Talia felt bad for forcing her up from her spot on the couch where she'd been watching early morning talk shows, but there was an elephant in this room.

Well, dog.

"W-what is that?" She pointed to the animal, backing away ever-so-slowly. She gripped her pounding chest, so lightheaded she leaned against the wall behind her for support.

"You mean Mika?" Teta chuckled, leaning down to pet her. The golden retriever nuzzled her face into her hand, whimpering softly. "She couldn't hurt a fly. Fouad and I are watching her for a neighbor today."

"Mika, ta'ali, ya habibti." Zaid beckoned the dog to come towards him. He knelt down and scratched her haunches, a smile growing on his face. "Ah yes, who's a good girl? You are. Oh, you are so cute."

"She understands Arabic, too?" She plopped down onto a chair at the kitchen table, still mind-blown at this multilingual mystery dog, and grabbed a cheese pastry from the half-empty platter.

What else are they hiding in this house? Brandon's racist ass?

Zaid appeared across the table, arms folded tightly across his chest to perfect his usual hostile stance. He had on a pair of sweatpants and a black college sweatshirt: dark for safety reasons. "You see, if you treat her with kindness, she'll love you back—if she has any room left in her heart for you, that is."

"Zaid," Teta warned, narrowing her eyes.

"Asif." He truly seemed sorry, making her realize the respect he had for her grandmother. He  clearly had none left for her. "You know, I had the same opinion the day I arrived in the US four months ago. My mother may have grown up American, but dogs were still nonexistent in my childhood."

She hmphed, realizing their childhoods may not have been so different. "Well, I may end up tolerating the dog, but I am not taking her out for walks in this snowglobe town."

"Not used to the cold?" He tilted his head towards the ice-covered deck and snow-covered table, its surface one flake away from caving in.

"Our idea of cold in California is sixty degrees, so I'd say so. Shouldn't you hate it, too?"

He shrugged. "It does snow back home, but the entire country shuts down after an inch or two. Going to class in a foot of it here was definitely a surprise." He stood up and walked to the coffee maker across the kitchen. He poured himself a cup, his arm a healthy distance from his torso. "I'd say the sooner you get yourself outside, the less horrifying it'll be, Talia."

"Are you suggesting we go somewhere together?" She quirked a brow and finished her small cup of mint tea, savoring the sugary bottom layer. "It's going to take a lot to drag me out there, Zaid."

He put down the coffee on the counter, as far away from her as possible, and walked back to the table, splaying his hands across it. The green and black ring on his middle finger glinted in the light.

"Why not consider me a tour guide in your own country?"

"Nice try, but I know my way around Boston." She stood up, now face-to-face with him. She was a tall girl, five-eight on a good day, but she liked how she felt just a little small next to him. "It won't be as fun as you think."

"That's because you're not very fun to be around, anyway." He picked up his mug of coffee, heading towards the living room where Teta Salma still was. "Just know, my offer is still on the table."

***

Talia caved.

Digging her hands deeper into the fleece-lined pockets of her black parka, she trudged down the street from her grandparents' house. Zaid seemed unbothered, closing his eyes and taking in the bitter wind whipping against his chiseled face.

"So, do you know where we're going?" She sounded like a perturbed five-year-old on a road trip asking this question a second time, but she still didn't know. "Is there anything to do around here, anyway?"

"No," he breathed, answering both of her questions. Adjusting the collar of his gray Canada Goose jacket, he tilted his head to the right. "We're actually not going anywhere."

She stopped in her tracks, hearing the crunch of old snow under her white tennis shoes. She looked down, unsure how white they still were.

"Please clarify."

"Thought you only spoke English," he quipped, standing in front of her. "And I mean it exactly how I said it. We're going on a walk. I've been needing a workout partner, and as much as I love Fouad, human speed slows down quite a bit after seventy."

She snorted at the asinine idea. "Oh, hell no, Zaid."

Turning up the road, she felt a hand latch onto her arm and wrench her backwards. Her back connected with his hard chest, head in the bend of his neck. It all seemed kind of romantic until she jabbed her elbow into his side, forcing him to release her.

"Jesus Christ, not so hard," he grumbled, rubbing his side with the heel of his palm. "I've broken that rib before—I'm sensitive."

"And so am I," she bit back. "You know, after being insulted by you about fifteen different times in the last twenty-four hours."

"Thirteen," he said, dropping his hand. A smile grew on his lips, making his hazel-brown eyes twinkle even on a cloudy winter day. "If you're going to accuse a man of wrongdoing, Talia, at least commit to accuracy."

"God, you're insufferable. How am I supposed to survive my whole winter break here?" She directed her question more at the sky, knowing someone up there was listening. Well, maybe the man in the Red Sox cap sitting on his porch was as well, smiling from afar.

He appeared in front of her again, all six-foot-something of him towering over her head. "That's exactly why I'm making us go on this walk. I don't like you, and you don't like me, but might as well break the ice already, no?"

He crushed an icy mound below him with the tip of his Timberland boot, before kicking away the remnants. The small ball of rocky snow skidded across the road and landed on the edge of Red Sox man's property.

"Impressive." She trailed her eyes from his foot to his face. "Soccer player?"

"Football," he said, spoken like a true non-American. He closed the gap between them by a foot, though she knew their true distance spanned far more than a strip of asphalt. "Yea or nay on the offer? You accepted my first, so I have high hopes."

"Yea," she said and jutted her thumb backwards, "only because that dude over there seems pretty invested."

He turned around and waved hello to the man, a Mr. Evans. She chuckled, wondering how the neighbors had felt about some young blood moving in. Most of the ritzy colonials in this neighborhood belonged to the older generation, maybe because young people had no way of affording most housing—let alone premier housing—anymore.

She began huffing once they'd made it down the road, a hand clasping her chest. "Mind slowing down a bit? It's been a while since I've exercised."

"Can tell," he hummed, but to her surprise, he slowed down a few paces. "I'll cut you some slack, only in this type of weather."

She rolled her eyes and yanked her hat down her ice-cold ears. They ached in a way she hadn't thought was possible back home. "Not like you'll believe me, but I used to work out a lot in the past. With this guy I used to know, that is. The gym was only a few paces away from our dorm."

"I take it he's an ex now," he said, catching on.

She nodded, taking one long stride forward to catch up to him. "Logan was a pretty decent guy. Boring, no sense of humor, but nice. His brother, though—total douchebag."

He flickered his eyes to her face, gloved fingers curling inwards. "Did he ever try to make a move on you?"

She shook her head, bile sliding up her throat at the idea. "No, not at all. Brandon just never got the memo that ignorance is a little outdated. He even had the chance to redeem himself the last time I saw him, but shame... He didn't want to try."

"So, he's white," Zaid concluded, despite her vague remarks. Cocking his head to the side, he continued, "What was it this time? Terrorist? Rather uncreative by now, I must admit. I'd have more content to offer him."

She laughed and then mumbled, "No, Brandon had a little more originality." Damn, that almost sounded like she was complimenting him. "Anyway, he's why I broke up with Logan. I don't need you to make fun of me for it; trust me, my mother has already given me enough of the hmara lectures."

He snorted before the sound morphed into a soft chuckle. Talia beamed on the inside, happy he was finally laughing with her and not at her.

After thirty minutes of huffing and puffing in the cold, she was sure the artisan café before them was just a mirage in a winter wonderland. With a few extra steps on the crunchy snow-covered sidewalk, in desperate need of a layer of salt, she reached the glass doors and threw herself towards the warmth.

Deep in thought, Zaid scanned the selections, seeming unsure of what tasted good and what only looked good on paper.

"Peppermint hot chocolate is best in winter," she said. She breathed a sigh of relief when the group of elementary schoolers before them made their sugary picks and migrated to the other counter. "You should try it."

He stared into space. "Why would you ever combine mint and chocolate? Mint goes in tea."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," she joked and took another step towards the counter.

After speeding through her order for the sake of the exasperated worker, she whirled around, begging Zaid to choose anything at this point. He went with the original flavor, nonfat.

"One second, please," she told the cashier after she announced the total, fishing through her wallet, when Zaid handed her a credit card over her head. She opened her mouth to protest, but he gripped her arm and grumbled shut up into her ear.

When they made it to the table, she let him hear it. "I'll be paying for my own food from now on. Don't act like this is a date."

"Certainly not," he said, gripping his paper cup harder. "But would you have rather had the Arab battle of who will offer to pay first in front of that sweet, tired woman?"

"I usually win that battle," she mumbled, "because none of my friends ever offer, anyway."

They took a moment to savor the warmth of their drinks, using the outside of their cups to heat their chilled hands. The only positive of the cold, she'd realized, was that it made the holidays feel like the holidays, the sight like something pulled out of those Hallmark rom coms Logan belonged in, though she was sure the charm was going to fade by the second day of January.

"So, is there any reason you didn't go back home for winter break?"

He perked up, brushing away a few tousled black strands from his forehead. "I should be asking you that." When she didn't reply, he sighed and answered, "I had planned to, but when I recalled the long journey back to a home that never feels like home anymore, I figured why bother?"

"But I'm sure your family misses you," she said, furrowing her brow.

He nodded. "They do. But they feel the same way I do, and can the blind lead the blind?"

She nodded her head at the poetic response but didn't press further, having approached sensitive-matter zone. She'd never gone there with Logan either; maybe that's why she hadn't known about his asshole brother for six months.

She changed the subject. "What are you studying in college, then?"

"I thought this wasn't a date," he said, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk. She frowned, busying herself with the cap of her drink. A couple droplets landed on her fingers, searing her skin. "I'm only teasing, but you'll actually never guess."

She quirked a brow. "What—are you a communications major? Wait, you'd probably have to be likable for that. Biology, maybe?"

"Civil engineering," he said, wiping all traces of a smile off her face. Her mother was an engineer, so was her uncle and well, almost every product of two foreign parents. "To humor you, my minor is literature, but my family would never recover if I changed my major to something so artsy."

"I don't think I've read a piece of literature since my senior year of high school," she said, unashamed to admit it. She never saw the point in reading texts written in English no longer used in modern times and then getting graded for her analyses, terrible for all the obvious reasons. "Was never good at the written word. The spoken word, too, if we're gonna get personal..."

"You still there?" Zaid asked after a moment.

Talia blinked at the hand waving in front of her face and retook in her surroundings, noticing the way his lips curled downwards in concern for just a second. She smiled and stood up, collecting her drink and the crumpled napkins on each side of the table.

"This is feeling too much like a date," she declared, chucking the ball of napkins into the nearest trash can.

Three made it in, while one bounced against the edge before joining the pile of other failed shots. Without a word, Zaid picked it up and dropped it into the trash can, along with the other half of his hot chocolate, mumbling something about how it tasted like shit. She opened her mouth to chastise his wastefulness when she felt her phone vibrating in her coat pocket.

"One moment," she muttered and ducked into the corner of the coffee shop, pressing the phone against her ear. She heard three voices vying for attention, each a varying degree of exasperated, until her father's tone came through. "Hello? Baba?"

"Talia, hey. How's it going? We just wanted to update you that we're currently stranded in France. Our flight got cancelled, and all we've been getting is phony updates on when the next flight is leaving Paris."

"Wait, really?" She let an old couple shove past her, retreating to the back entrance of the store for privacy. "But I mean, can you even put 'stranded' and 'France' in the same sentence? I'd take that as a win."

He chuckled, his gravelly voice vibrating through the receiver. "Yes, I realize that there are far worse places to be in the world." He could always freeze in Boston with a complete ass: the winter dream. "How's the East Coast treating you? Regretting not joining us yet?"

No. Yes. "Baba, I think we should have a talk sometime soon. Not here, because I'm in public, but I believe there's a certain detail you neglected to tell me before you shipped me out here. Care to explain?"

"Oh, sorry, Talia, I'm losing connection, but we'll call you when we get any updates on—"

Two beeps sounded, and she was left staring at her phone screen, hoping he'd call back. Groaning and grumbling to herself, she shoved her phone back into her pocket and marched towards the exit, not caring when Zaid would join her again.

Three steps in, she could smell his cologne wafting behind her, the edge of his jacket brushing against her arm. She stopped in her tracks and tilted her head up, trying to decipher his expression through narrowed eyes, noting some paradoxical cross of amusement and boredom.

"You only speak in English to your parents? I mean, I won't act surprised."

"Uh-uh, Zaid," she said, holding up her index finger. "I said Baba. That's not English."

For once, he said nothing snarky in return.