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Matthew was on his tiptoes reaching for the maple syrup on the top shelf of a cupboard when he heard that unexpected tapping sound coming from the glass window behind him. Accustomed to the company of his polar bear, the young man’s hand trembled, nearly spilling the amber syrup over the microwave. Alfred, who ought to be basking his Presidents’ Day vacation in Washington D.C., was now hanging upside down outside the casement, posturing a gun-shooting gesture.
‘Surprise!’ The vigorous shouts of this American young man could be heard even through those double brazing windows. Alfred pressed his nose against the glass, compressing the tip of it into a hilariously flattened surface. ‘Our hero has come to rescue the poor little boy trapped in the blizzard!’
Matthew cast a silent glance towards the cloudless blue sky. In fact, the weather forecast had predicted a mild five degrees Celsius across Canada. He chose to swallow back the urge of pointing this out, and by the time Alfred bounded into the kitchen, shaking off imaginary snowflakes like an exuberant golden retriever, the bottle of maple syrup had already been safely placed on the counter while butter sizzled gently in the frying pan.
Matthew was on his tiptoes reaching for the maple syrup on the top shelf of a cupboard when he heard that unexpected tapping sound coming from the glass window behind him. Accustomed to the company of his polar bear, the young man’s hand trembled, nearly spilling the amber syrup over the microwave. Alfred, who ought to be basking his Presidents’ Day vacation in Washington D.C., was now hanging upside down outside the casement, posturing a gun-shooting gesture.
“Surprise!” The vigorous shouts of this American young man could be heard even through those double brazing windows. Alfred pressed his nose against the glass, compressing the tip of it into a hilariously flattened surface. “Our hero has come to rescue the poor little boy trapped in the blizzard!”
Matthew cast a silent glance towards the cloudless blue sky. In fact, the weather forecast had predicted a mild five degrees Celsius across Canada. He chose to swallow back the urge of pointing this out, and by the time Alfred bounded into the kitchen, shaking off imaginary snowflakes like an exuberant golden retriever, the bottle of maple syrup had already been safely placed on the counter while butter sizzled gently in the frying pan.
“Pancakes need twice the usual amount of chocolate chips!” Alfred’s fluffy head suddenly appeared over Matthew’s shoulder, causing his breath—tinged with the scent of cola—to brush against the other’s ear. Flustered, the Canadian hastily shoved an oven mitt towards him, only to realise that Alfred had already settled his chin quite instinctively into the crook of his shoulder.
The fabric, warmed by body heat, quivered slightly as Alfred began absentmindedly prodding the back of Matthew’s hand with his calloused fingertips. “Mattie, you’re holding the spatula in a completely wrong way! Let me show you.” And with that, his palm suddenly covered Matthew’s, guiding it in a smooth motion along the edges of the maple-leaf-shaped pancake.
It was not long before all five pancakes were stolen by the little bear, whilst Alfred took his time to draw Stars and Stripes on the plate, using maple syrup. Leaning in unexpectedly, his nose brushed against the corner of Matthew’s cream-smeared lips. The American held up his fingertips, which were now dusted with white fluff. “It’s shedding season for that polar bear. You really should buy a new vacuum cleaner!”
Matthew eyed the syrup jar Alfred had “accidentally” knocked over, its contents seeping into the tablecloth. Suddenly, he was reminded of a morning three centuries ago, during the days of New France. Back then, Alfred’s fingertips had also been dusted with something sweet—specifically, sugar that looked like morning dews—and, during their canoeing lesson, he had quietly hooked his little finger around Matthew’s frozen, reddened one.
“Special favor from the Hero!” Alfred suddenly buried his entire face into Matthew’s scarf, voice muffled through the cashmere fabric. “See? You’re ten times better than a central heating system, Mattie.”
Before Matthew could react, Alfred’s ice-cold hands had already slipped into his jumper. Heartily, the American laughed as Matthew let out a startled yelp.
Outside, the first snow of winter had begun to fall. Yet the snowflakes caught in Alfred’s hair showed no sign of melting. Matthew gazed at their overlapping reflections in the glass. Somehow, he found himself praying that this snow would never stop.