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Robin was miserable. Freezing cold down to her core, she hadn't been able to get warm all day. The chill outside had penetrated too deeply, it didn't matter how many layers she put on or how many cups of tea she drunk. She was still cold.
Steve, meanwhile, was prancing around the video store in just a shirt and trousers. He didn't even have a sweater on. He had taken it off twenty minutes ago, and flung it over the back counter.
It was February. Every time someone opened the door, snow would flurry in behind them, and the wind would embrace her. Thankfully, mostly people weren't opening the door, and Robin was able to justify crouching behind the register like an angry gargoyle without too much trouble.
She wanted to go home. She still had two hours still left in her shift, and she was counting the minutes.
She had contemplated not coming in at all today. With the weather as gross as it was, and the cold as penetrating, getting out of bed that morning had felt all but impossible. Robin had felt as if her arms and legs were sandbags, heavy and immovable, more liquid than solid.
But she had managed it, had even been outside waiting by the time Steve pulled up, with coffee in a thermos for the two of them.
Steve had finished his as soon as they got to the store, but Robin's was still sitting there, cold as ice. The smell had been off-putting.
It was just one of those days. Robin hunched over the counter, keeping her arms as close as she could to her torso in the hopes it would help her generate some heat, and looked longingly at Steve's sweater.
It was just sitting there, cast aside. Clearly Steve didn't need it, he was too busy moving around to let the cold get to him like it had gotten to Robin. She had borrowed his clothes before, so surely he wouldn't mind if she pulled it on.
The temptation was too great, and while Steve's back was turned, she snatched and pulled it on over her own sweater.
She didn't immediately feel much warmer, but slowly, the extra layer began to ease the chills, and she unwound, leaning back on the stool by the register. Slowly, her eyes began to drift shut.
"Is that my sweater," Steve asked teasingly, a few minutes later.
Robin's eyes snapped open. "NO-" she said automatically, before she registered the question. "You weren't wearing it," she said.
"You have the heat turned up to eighty," Steve said. "I didn't need it. Keep it on."
"It's not eighty," Robin rebuffed. It was 78 degrees. He was right, she had turned the thermostat up as soon as they had arrived that morning.
"It's pretty damn close," he said. "I think you have a fever, Buckley."
He felt her forehead, only just brushing her skin before she reeled backwards. "Jesus Christ your hands are freezing!"
Steve just laughed, and wrapped an arm around her. "Probably," he said. "But you're sick. Why don't you go lie down in the back? I think there's a blanket back there you can wrap up in. Might make the afternoon pass a little faster."
There was a blanket, and it was skunky and foul, and she had no idea where it had come from, but that sounded like the best idea in the world.
"What about the customers?" Robin gave a halfhearted excuse.
"What customers?" Steve asked. "I don't know if you noticed, but it's really coming down out there now. No one's coming in. We probably should close, actually or we're going to get stuck here.
Robin looked out the glass doors of the shop. Steve was right: outside the snow drifted down in thick, fat clumps. It would be idyllic if she didn't know full well how awful the roads were going to be in thirty minutes.
"Go lie down," Steve said again. "I'll call Keith and ask to lock up, and then I can drive us both home."
Robin looked again outside, at the freezing wind and falling snow, and gave up.
"Fine," she said. "Call Keith. I'm going to lie down." She slid off the chair, and headed to the backroom. There was a gross blanket and a couch waiting for her.