Monday’s Big Winter Storm got its official announcement from Splash, who rarely raises his voice but knows when something deserves notice. “I think I am in love with a talented young woman named Katie Byrne.”

Rocket didn’t look up from his coffee.

“Aren’t you about four decades too old for her? Or are you prospecting for that grandson of yours?”
Laughter rolled across the conference table. Melissa and Holly, already awake long enough to see the non-fantasy version of Splash, found the idea of any cross-generational romance safely hypothetical.

Splash straightened anyway.

“I kept watch all day because of the sleet. From before dawn until after sunset. Most amazing thing I’ve seen—except for Katie, of course. It rained lightly all day, prickly on the nose. She helped me understand what I was seeing, and I stayed with her coverage the rest of the afternoon.”

He had done his homework. Katie Byrne joined FOX Weather in 2021 after working local desks in Scranton and Philadelphia. Poise, presence, training programs, national desk. Splash recited it like a résumé learned out of respect.

Melissa stretched, her red sweater bright against the pale dawn outside the windows.
“So what does she guess is coming next?”

“Katie was conflicted,” Splash said. “The sleet cut off snow accumulation early, so we got ice instead. If it had been a little colder at altitude, we’d be talking records. Instead, we got historic ugliness. Ice-coated roads, sharp-edged snowbanks, people walking in the street alongside plows and emergency drivers. And she says it’s staying in the icebox.”

“So no melt today?” Rocket asked.

“Not according to Katie. No temperatures above freezing for a week.”

“Brrrr.”

That was when Section Leader Miles entered with a steaming mug.
“Is it safe to go out?”

“Clear as a bell at dawn,” Splash said. “Wind chills in the single digits. Good day for chipping and shoveling. But not for melting.”

Rocket frowned. “Didn’t someone predict another storm?”

Melissa nodded. “WTOP overnight. Veronica Johnson and Dave Dildine. More snow possible before this ice lets go.”

No one liked that.

“If it keeps up,” Splash said, “we may just post a sign: “Historic Snow Emergency—See You in the Spring.”

The storm failed to break records. It succeeded only in being relentless, inconvenient, and exhausting—an ice-glazed reminder that weather doesn’t need superlatives to disrupt daily life.

Splash stood, parka zipped, remote control sliding into his pocket.

“I’m going to see if Katie has a more interesting forecast,” he said. “It fascinates me that journalists are doing the weather guessing these days. Given the track record, certainty feels seasonal.”
Outside, Fairfax remained frozen and patient. Inside, the coffee was hot, the parkas stayed on, and everyone quietly hoped for thaw—both meteorological and otherwise.

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