THAT SPRING, the residents of Bluerose, Texas were not expecting snow. Had there been a single snowflake that winter, the white that powdered the city on a Sunday night in April would not have caused such a stir.
Jay sat Indian style on the kitchen floor with a glass of Maker's Mark (two ice cubes) and talked to his girlfriend, Liz, on the phone. She had gone to Paris for a wedding. Jay and Liz knew the time difference between Bluerose and Paris (seven hours) but asked each other every time, as if it were a hug, or a kiss.
"What time is it there?" asked Jay.
“Are you eating Paris brest?”
“A delightful French dessert said to have been created by a pastry chef in honor of a bicycle race between Paris and Brest.”
“I’ll try brest,” she said. There was a pause, and she laughed. “I’ll try my brest.”
“It’s so good. It’s kind of like a cream puff but better.”
The ice cubes in the glass made a loud popping noise. Startled, Jay looked up and noticed the window. Large white flakes were falling outside. He wondered if the flakes would stick.