Page 75 of The Escape Plan

“The summer I met Keeley Roberts.”

I wait for him to elaborate. To add something I did or said that was funny or embarrassing.

But he says nothing further.

I twist my head to look at him, and he shrugs, his eyes burning into mine as he says, “That’s it, that’s what I’m going to remember. You.”

“Beckett…” I breathe.

That electric feeling is only growing. Crackling with energy. With possibility, like anything could happen.

My breath becomes shallow as his hand tightens on my knee, and his pupils dilate as I tilt my chin up towards him.

What I want is surely written all over my face as he leans closer…

“Aghhhhh!” I shriek as what feels like an entire bucket of water washes over my head.

The heavens have opened, the sky has exploded, and screams echo around the parking area as people flee to their vehicles to escape the downpour. Within seconds, I’m a sopping wet mess holding a sopping wet ice cream cone, and my brain has short-circuited—the rain has clearly fried my already overheating circuit board.

Because I’m sitting here, frozen, until the sound of Beckett’s laughter snaps through me like a rubber band. Deliciously deep, almost dirty, laughter.

In one swift, impressively accurate motion, he pitches the remains of his ice cream cone into a nearby trash can, then removes his jacket and holds it up over my head.

In a world of boys, he’s the gentleman of all gentlemen.

He hops down from the tailgate and tosses my soaking cone into the trash too, before helping me down. Together, still laughing, we run around to the driver’s side of the truck, and he steers me in front of him so I can climb in first.

I tumble into the cab of the truck, soaking and giggling. He’s hot on my heels, and I scoot across the bench seat to make room for him.

We’re both breathing heavily, and the cab fogs up within seconds. Becks throws his soaking jacket into the back seat, and I peel off my sweatshirt, which is plastered to my skin. My scoop-neck tee underneath hasn’t fared much better, and Beckett’s t-shirt is sticking to him, almost completely see-through.

“We haven’t had rain like this all summer!” I say, running my fingers through my wet tangles.

Becks leans his head against the headrest, still laughing. Droplets of water cascade down his handsome face. “Clearly, I brought the Irish weather tonight.” He turns the key in the ignition. “Let me get some heat going.”

“Does it rain on most of your dates, then?” I ask. It’s not very graceful, nor subtle, and I’m sure he’ll clue in pretty quickly here that I’m digging, but I don’t care.

“What dates?” he asks with a wry smile. “I haven’t gone on a date in forever.”

“Yeah, right.” He told me that first night on the fire escape that he split with his long-term girlfriend last year, and despite his apparent opinion that he’s not good boyfriend material, I am certain that a newly single Becks would have been an extremely hot commodity in his hometown.

Anywhere, actually.

“I’m being serious.” Beckett pushes his hair back off his face and then holds his hands to the vents, where warm air is blasting. “This is the first date I’ve been on in forever. In fact, it’s the first first date I’ve been on in like a decade.”

“Why?!” The word blurts out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I hastily follow up with, “Sorry, that was nosy. You don’t need to answer that. Obviously.”

I’m blabbering again.

But he just shakes his head with a smile. “Because I didn’t feel like dating. For a long while there, I didn’t really feel much of anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“After Gran died, I shut down for a while, was essentially just going through the motions of life. I handled my grief badly, I think.”

His eyes flit to my face. I get the feeling he doesn’t talk like this easily, doesn’t share this with everyone, and I find myself feeling sheer privilege.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I dealt with it all by looking after everyone else, while not really letting myself feel or lean into my emotions… that is, until I met you.”

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