J.B. learned quickly: Chicago was no place to be when November struck, blowing in off the Great Lakes with all the cold fury of a cheated mistress.

But he had taken the job here, and he'd have to deal with it -- at least until spring.

The job was boring. Damn those lying pamphlets and damn the job fair shysters. Thank God for Tina.

All day long, making the telemarketing calls from his cubicle, he comforted himself with the sight of her pretty golden hair, the sweet sound of her voice, the scent of her perfume.

She'd been here a while before him, and she was the sweetest thing in the world, but she had one big flaw -- at least according to the jerks he worked with. She smoked. Long white Virginia Slims, balanced like the stems of flowers in her fingers. He loved watching her smoke, watching her sip the fragrant fumes into her lungs and exhale.

The jerks forbid her to smoke around them, anywhere inside, in the break room, even around the front door. She'd gotten around that, somewhat, by taking the early morning shift, where she could get away with a few cigarettes at her desk before the others came in. Only a gruff old cigar smoker -- the shop electrician -- and J.B. shared that shift with her. The cigar smoker didn't care if she smoked, and J.B., well, J.B. wouldn't have minded if she had brought a skunk in to share her cubicle, as long as it was what she wanted.

When she had found that out, when she first timidly asked, "Do you mind if I smoke in here," and he'd said no way she'd seemed almost shocked, clearly expecting his refusal.

And so he toiled away in his cubicle, doing his early morning tasks in a sweet haze of her secondhand smoke, smiling at her now and then and she at him, both dreading the moment when the wall clock clicked the new hour and she had to hide her cigarettes and spray air freshener around the office.<> It was only 3 p.m. now, with an hour until both she and he finished their shift. Already, the sky was dark and stormy. He could see Tina needed a cigarette bad. He could also see she did not want to go outside.

"Do you all mind if I..." she asked. The jerks knew what was coming. "No way, Tina," said Henry, the shift supervisor. "If you gotta smoke, go outside, around the building. Don't pollute our air."

"One cigarette couldn't hurt," she said. "I hate this damn place."

"Then quit," Henry said.

Clearly angry, Tina gathered up her purse and her cigarettes. "I'll just go out and freeze, alone in the dark. Not that you bastards would care."

"Quit smoking," said Henry.

"Screw you," said Tina.

J.B. watched her walk down the hallway. He knew there was one secret Tina had. She'd been mugged last year, and she was deathly afraid of the dark.

He made a decision.

"I'm taking a break," he said.

"You don't smoke," said Henry.

"Maybe I'll start," J.B. said. "The air stinks in here. Like cold hearts rotting."

He caught up with Tina as she reached the door. The look of gratitude in her eyes was beautiful. They went outside. The wind hit them, whipping her hair out and making him shiver.

"Why'd you come out?" she asked.

"Because I love you and if I have to die, I'd rather die of the Chicago cold in the presence of a goddess then from the armpit stench of a self-righteous overheated cubicle crowd," he wanted to say.

"Because I need some air," he said. She smiled. She knew better. "Thank you, J.B.," she said. "You're sweet. You don't smoke but you don't mind if I do. And you'll freeze your cute butt so that I don't have to smoke mine alone. Guys like you are one in a million."

They found a somewhat sheltered spot around the side of the building. She took out her cigarettes and put one in her lips. Shivering, she held the lighter to it and tried to spark it up. A gust of wind blew out the flame.

"Damn," she said. She tried again. The flame bent against her fingers, burning her.

"Dammit all," she said. "Stupid wind."

"Let me help," J.B. said. He moved in close beside her, blocking the wind with his back. Still it worked around him, snuffing out the flame again.

Now he was angry -- angry with the pigs they worked with, angry with this weather, angry because this beautiful woman couldn't even enjoy a simple cigarette.

Only one thing to do. He cupped his fingers around her cigarette tip, leaving only the merest of space.

"Bring the lighter in," he said. He moved his other hand around the top of the lighter making a wind-proof well around where the butane would flame out.

"It'll burn you," she said.

"I can take it," he said. "It's time you met a real man." He tried to make it sound half-joking, half casual.

Tina was a sweet girl. She didn't want to hurt him. But she wanted that cigarette and he was waiting like a happy puppy to help her. She flicked her Bic. He felt the flame spring out and scorch the curve of his palm. He willed himself not to pull away. She moved the sheltered flame to the tip of her cigarette and he felt it burn his other fingers, which were sheltering the tip. When he thought he couldn't stand it any more, he looked up and saw a cottony ball of smoke slipping down her throat, down from the long white length of her cigarette, with its steady-glowing tip. Success.

It had only been a second or so. His hands were hardly hurt at all. And her cigarette was lit.

As testified by the wonderful cloud of smoke that suddenly spilled out of her lips into his face as she leaned in to kiss him.

"You're right," she said. "I think I met a real man today."