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“Ready to shovel?” Andrew asked, his tone still somehow cheery, even now.

“Not really,” Edwin admitted. “I’m worried my arms will fall off before we even reach the end of the block.”

“What if we take turns?” Andrew suggested. “That might make it easier. And we can focus on shoveling just a single path, too. Only wide enough for one person to pass through at a time. That might make it easier as well.”

“Might,” Edwin emphasized as he reached for the doorknob. He heaved a sigh. “But I have no other suggestions, so I suppose we’ll have to go with that.” He grabbed his shovel and pulled open the door. “I’ll take the first shift.”

He regretted the words the moment he saw the pile of white in front of him. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the shovel through the snow horizontally and lifted the first foot or so off of the top. His muscles shook as he flung it to the side, off of the stoop and onto the patch of lawn in front of the windows (or, well, the patch of earth that was normally lawn but was now covered with forty-something inches of snow). He repeated the motion several more times, finally clearing a four-foot-long area.

“Dammit, this is going to take forever,” he said. “I truly, truly can’t comprehend how we’ll ever make it to my family.”

“Let me try for a little while,” Andrew said.

He took hold of Edwin’s sleeve and pulled him back into the house, switching places with him. Then, he began to shovel. Edwin threw his head back and groaned. Damn blizzard. After a couple of minutes, Andrew had managed to clear a narrow path, just as he’d suggested. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the pathetic little rectangle Edwin had shoveled before. Edwin frowned as he stepped back onto the stoop. He had to do better.

“It’s my turn now,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

Again, he and Andrew switched places, and then Edwin shoveled some more, clearing a path for them to the walkway. By the end of it, beads of sweat were peppered across his brow. Droplets of perspiration fell into his eyes, and they stung. He could hardly believe how much effort it had taken for them to make it one-third of the way through the front yard.

Back and forth they went like this, first making their way to the Beaver Street sidewalk and then working east. Halfway to Pearl, Edwin paused to check his pocket watch. His muscles trembled as he clicked it open. He couldn’t even be sure if his shaking was because of his exhaustion or because of the cold.

One hour had passed since he and Andrew had started to shovel. One whole hour for them to make it four or five hundred feet. Edwin wasn’t sure how much more of this his mind or body could take.

Letting out a long, ragged breath, Edwin turned to face Andrew.

“I hate this,” he said, honestly and simply before huffing a bitter laugh. “And before you mention it, I’m perfectly aware that by saying such a thing, I sound like a bratty child, but it’s the truth. I hate everything about this.”

Andrew let out an infuriating chuckle.

“I can’t believe you’re laughing at me,” Edwin said, though Andrew’s happy laugh never failed to make him want to laugh, too, and this was no exception. He took a breath to try to contain the seemingly instinctual response to chuckle with him and instead, refocused his thoughts on the stiffness in his shoulders and the soreness of his biceps—reminders of how miserable he was. Planting his shovel, he said, very pointedly, “I have a right to hate things.”

“I’m not laughing at you, Edwin,” Andrew said. “I’m having fun.”

Edwin reeled back. “You’re having fun? Doing this?”

“I’m having fun listening to you. I like it when you’re . . . well, when you’re a bit of a brat.” He shrugged his shoulders, and his smile widened. “I like churlish Edwin.”

Edwin’s heart fluttered, and once again, he felt a smile pulling at his lips. Damn. He pressed his lips more firmly together to try to contain it, but it only worked for a second or two before Andrew’s sentiment echoed in his ears and he found himself smiling in earnest, the fondness he felt for his companion continuing to make his heart flutter. After having a brief look around to make sure no one was within earshot, Edwin moved to whisper in Andrew’s ear.

“Thirty seconds ago, I was perfectly content with being miserable for the rest of our time out here shoveling, but now I can’t seem to not smile. I can’t seem to stay miserable when I’m with you, even now, even when I’m cold and tired and on the verge of collapsing from overexertion. And I love you for that.”

Andrew’s smile broadened, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“I love you, too, Edwin.”

“Even when I’m a brat.”

“Even then,” Andrew said. “Especially then.”

Cheeks burning, Edwin shoved Andrew halfheartedly before forcing himself to look away, otherwise he was worried he might take Andrew by the lapels and smash their faces together. Then, Edwin resumed shoveling. He managed to hold onto the fuzzy feeling of fondness and contentedness for another couple of feet, but soon, the exhaustion and irritation crept back in.

“I hate this,” he repeated.

He and Andrew locked eyes, and Andrew shook his head, letting out a light laugh, which made Edwin laugh too.

Together, the men continued to carve a path forward until they reached Pearl Street. When they arrived at Pearl, Edwin straightened his posture and rolled his shoulders a couple of times. Andrew copied him.

Ahead of them, the snow wasn’t quite as high, at least not as far as Edwin was able to see. Gusts of wind must have blown much of the snow away before it had settled, making the immediate area not as harrowing as much of the path behind them had been.