Page 38 of I Love a Good Challenge

“I don’t even know what that means, but I feel like I need to tell you that is something I would never ask of you,” Lily says. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. I can barely hear her mumbling but make out the words, “Something else . . . maybe.”

“What?” I blurt out. My pants may be drenched, and I have no idea how I’ll ever be able to walk home without my picture appearing on a poster board at the next Town Hall meeting, but I desperately want to know what else Lily would ask of me.

As if on cue, a torrent of rain—much like the river of espresso we just stopped—pours from the sky, the force and sound of the sudden drops ricocheting off the pavement. Maybe Gladys is this town’s fairy godmother. I wouldn’t be shocked if she was at this point.

“Well, I guess I’m waiting this storm out,” I remark, staring at my pants and wishing that this wasn’t going to be the last impression I leave on Lily today.

The wind howls beyond the windows, whirling through the street and sending the café chairs on the little patio outside toppling. While it was set for spring weather, the tiny pellets of frozen rain tell me it was wishful thinking. I’d forgotten this level of cold after being in LA. One can only hope I won’t still need a winter jacket for the wedding. Together, we rush out to bring each one in. I attempt to grab two at a time as Lily assists beside me. We manage to get all the patio furniture indoors, getting completely drenched in the process.

“I’m no longer worried about the coffee,” I laugh, looking down, the stain of espresso on my pants barely visible.

“The weather was nicer earlier, I thought . . .” she muses with a sigh. “Disaster upon disaster today.”

She’s throwing hand towels at me from the kitchen. Silently, we wipe the furniture down. My eyes try their best not to focus on the drops of water that seem to fall from the ends of her hair every few seconds.

As we finish drying the furniture, Lily begins to shiver, even with the now-soaked hoodie she threw on before we bolted outside. Her arms wrap around her waist just as the lights flicker. She winces, her nose scrunching in disbelief.

“No, no, no,” she grumbles. Once, she told me she hates storms, that the sound of a storm is the one thing that frustrates her more than anything else . . . besides people who make idiotic decisions.

“Do you have a change of clothes here?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“I’d say we could go to my place, but—”

“My place is closer,” she counters.

“Right. I’ll walk you and then head back . . .” I almost say home, but I can’t seem to make myself when I know it will only feel like home if she is mine.

The moment feels like we’re nearing the edge of something. I hate that I’m holding on to each precious second I can get with her, but if I’m going to spend time with anyone, I’ll choose Lily every time. With the wedding only weeks away, the time we have together—once again—is running out.

Lily stops me by taking a step closer. “Please, I . . . don’t want to be alone.”

“You have friends, though.” I’m pushing her, but she promised to tell the truth. “Ivy? Grey?”

“Yes, I do. But I . . .”

The stricken expression on her face crushes me. It’s the same look as when she used to ask me not to leave, and we’d end up kissing for another thirty minutes. The thing about Lily that I’m sure most people don’t know is that once she lets you in, you’re fully in. She used to want my affection. She was the one who held tightly to my shirt when I started to pull away. She was the one who buried her face in my neck to smell me, hoping I didn’t notice.

So, maybe it isn’t so wild to hope she’ll seek my comfort again. Our best friends may be out of town, but she is surrounded by countless people and other friends who would quickly come to her side.

I can’t help but reflect, though, that when Lily needed help today, she called for me. Tonight, she doesn’t want to be alone in the spring storm. And truth be told, neither do I.

Chapter Fourteen

Lily

The storm rages as we rush into the shelter of my apartment. Water seeps through my clothes and causes a shiver to run up and down my spine. I’m soaked from this late-April rainfall. I feel the chill seeping into my bones and question whether I’ll ever know what it is to be warm again.

The tiny entryway is crowded as the two of us stand just inside the door, our breathing heavy from the effort to get here. I kick off my soaked tennis shoes and click on a small lamp. When I dare to peek at Graham, the glow reflects off his skin. In the dimness, his hair appears a few shades darker. Tiny drops fall from the perfectly trimmed, arched ends that graze his forehead.

He removes his loafers and a pair of discreet socks, both of which are probably ruined, either by my espresso river or the torrential downpour we just ran through. He places them on the mat by the door, sucking in a breath when he steps on the cold floor. He tries to shake out the chill too, his nose reddened while his hands look frigid. I have the urge to wrap my own cold hands around them to see if I can restore their warmth.

I can’t explain why I offered him shelter in my home, except the idea of being alone while knowing he could have been with me wasn’t acceptable tonight.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his shoulders hunching as water drips to the hardwood floor below him. “I’m not trying to ruin your place.”

The vulnerability in his eyes sets me on edge. I could cry from the emotion of it all. Even after he rescued me tonight, staying with me at the bakery, scrubbing the tile on his hands and knees, and cleaning coffee grounds from the crevices of the espresso bar, he’s still unsure around me. He doesn’t realize that I couldn’t care less about the floor.

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