Christmas in July

When Jenna Marie Cruz had imagined winter, there was always snow. She pictured herself standing outside, mouth open, laughing as cloudy puffs of ice tickled her tongue. Everything she knew about winter -- gleaned from story books, Christmas carols and Disney movies -- promised a romantic fairy tale.

No one had warned her about wind tunnels and bone-deep chill and cracked lips that stung when they accidentally came into contact with tears. No one had hinted that her first taste of winter would be bitter.

Jenna had stepped off the plane this morning filled with optimism. After two years of saving up, she finally had enough to make the trip from Manila to Melbourne, and the thought of surprising Vincent had kept her occupied for months. She was not normally an impulsive person, but they had been childhood sweethearts -- together for almost six years -- and their conversations were littered with plans for the future. Marriage, babies, sipping brandy in front of the fireplace as they grew old together in their new home.

He had forgotten to mention that there would be no snow in Melbourne.

It seems he forgot to tell her a great many things. Important things. Like the fact that if she tried to surprise him with an unannounced visit, she might find him in an intimate embrace with a strange woman. And that while she was paralysed with disbelief, he would take the other woman's hand and lean down to touch her forehead with his, the move so achingly familiar that Jenna could almost imagine it was her in the other woman's place. That he would walk off, hand in hand with a stranger, and Jenna would be left with nothing but winter and rain, forcing her to take refuge in the nearest cafe, heartsick, bedraggled and trembling with cold.

It was no Starbucks, that was for sure. The Beans and Bones was pure hipster, with its wooden beams and mismatched ratty furniture and five different cronut varieties seducing patrons from the display case. More impressive was the array of treats, lined up at canine eye level, that dominated the entrance; the unmistakeable hint of damp dog made it clear who was at the top of the pecking order here. Jenna thought of Lady and Sugar, her breed-unknown beauties whose love predated Vincent's, and smiled as she let the door swing shut behind her.

There was one empty table left, squeezed against the wall just before the kitchen entrance, and Jenna manoeuvred her way through people and pets to claim it. She struggled to unwrap herself, draping her coat on the spare chair and tossing her beanie, gloves and scarf haphazardly on the table. Space was a luxury to be enjoyed when dining alone, she realised, and even her uncomfortable chair and inhospitable corner were plenty at that moment. Jenna ordered a cappuccino, breaking her first Australian bill, and tried not to think about the fact that back home she could have had Chickenjoy and spaghetti for the same amount. The coffee was richer than she expected, and when the froth bubbled on her lip, she imagined it was snow.

She managed to stretch out the cappuccino over an hour, taking small sips well after it had gone cold. She played with her phone for a while, letting her family know she arrived safely while studiously avoiding any mention of Vincent. In a burst of temper, she took a selfie and posted it on Instagram with a note about how wonderful it was to finally experience the Australian winter.

Jenna was shrugging on her coat when she met Riley and fell in love. He ignored her at first, taking his duty to the lumbersexual holding on to his harness very seriously. But Jenna stood between them and the restrooms, so they had to stop, and when Mr Manbun in a Blue Flannel Shirt stooped down to pat him and murmur something she couldn't hear, she fell in love.

With the dog, not the man, because she was a bit off men at present. Even those with arms that looked perfect for staving off the winter chill, and a rumbling voice that gave her goosebumps.