Three Sentence Ficathon

"I was promised a snowstorm." Parker pointed at the television. "The weatherperson promised me a snowstorm! For the past week!" She waved her hand at the window, where rain lashed the glass—stupid wet rain, which just made everything muddy and gray. "This is not a snowstorm!"

Hardison pulled her into a hug. "I know, babe. I'm sorry."

Parker burrowed into his soft sweater and continued to pout. "We should steal his weather license. He doesn't deserve it."

"Pretty sure the Channel 12 meteorologist doesn't actually control the weather, otherwise I'm sure he'd have made sure we got snow." Hardison rubbed her back. "Tell you what, why don't we go ask Eliot to make some hot chocolate? That always cheers you up."

She did like hot chocolate. "With peppermint and marshmallows?"

"All the marshmallows you can eat."

Parker grinned and kissed his cheek. "Well, it's not snow, but it's the next best thing."

NO I am not bitter about the lack of snow, why do you ask