They walk through the soft snow of Central park, hands tightly clasped, feeling the heat of their skin even through the thick gloves they wear against the frigid chill of a New York winter. They don’t speak, neither willing to break the spell, to acknowledge that their time together is drawing to a close. The scent of him lingers on the soft cashmere scarf he wound round her neck to keep her warm; and later on the plane, she will pillow her head against it in an effort to keep the tears at bay.