Page 59 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper
A woman on the other side of the roof let out a giggling shriek, and the handful of people who’d been taking in the views hurried for the elevator.
But since Oliver stayed, Chloe did, too. The rain shifted from a sprinkle to a drizzle.
“We used to love the rain when we were kids,” he said.
“Especially on the sliver of roof outside my window, above the porch,” Chloe said.
Oliver shook his head, and the mischievous corner of his mouth lifted. “Remember how livid your dad was when he found us out there in the middle of a storm?”
“Do you two think you’re lightning rods?” Chloe said in a faux baritone.
They started laughing, and finally, Oliver turned to look at her again. But as soon as he was facing her, her laughter caught in her throat, and all she could do was gape.
His tuxedo shirt had gone translucent in the rain, the cotton now drenched and stretched taut across his broad chest. Chloe had seen Oliver in a jiu jitsu T-shirt in Little Tokyo, but she hadn’t seen him like this, the physicality of his strength on full display.
And he was staring at her, too, because the rain had plastered the thin blue silk of her gown against her skin. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and Chloe saw him notice, then immediately avert his eyes. Was it for propriety’s sake, out of respect for her as a friend? Or was it possible that first loves burned so bright, even sixteen years couldn’t snuff out the flame?
Here in the near dark with no one else around, the past and the present seemed to fold together. Chloe could still remember the first—the only—time they kissed, in her bedroom over candy grams. She remembered that soft parting of Oliver’s mouth all too well, too. How gentle he was. How even though neither of them had known what they were doing back then, it had still been perfect, because it was them. And it felt the same again now, that crackle between them like an electric charge about to strike. Maybe theywerelightning rods.
She reached up and threaded her fingers through the dark red of his hair, stood on her tiptoes, and leaned in.
Oliver took in a sharp breath of air.
“Chloe…” His voice was rough and low.
She didn’t know if there was a warning in his tone, or if the ragged edge she heard was wanting.
“Yes?” she whispered.
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“No… He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Oliver came closer. Chloe shivered, not because of the rain, but because every millimeter of her skin was aware of his nearness.
He brushed away the bangs that always fell across her face and he pinned them to her temple with his thumb. He was so close that she could smell the sweetness of Campari and orange on his breath. His fingers grazed her cheek—which he used to say was a confetti of freckles—then moved slowly… so slowly… along her jaw and down her neck.
Not a kiss. Not yet…
Behind them, the elevator dinged. The doors opened.
“I saw someone matching her description come up here,” a woman said.
“Chloe?” Zac called into the rain.
Shit!Chloe and Oliver jumped apart. It was dark on this side of the rooftop, but not entirely, and Zac would see them any second.
She hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really. She hadn’t kissed Oliver, even though she’d wanted to. And she and Zac weren’t even exclusive.
Still, she was supposed to be here at the gala with Zac. And she andOliver, the only ones out here in the drizzle, were standing too close to be able to convincingly lie that they’d been enjoying the nighttime views separately.
Chloe tried to defuse what was probably not going to be a pretty situation by hurrying toward Zac and the woman who’d accompanied him. Maybe she could steer them away before Zac’s vision adjusted to the dark and saw there had been someone else here on the rooftop with her.
“Zac! I didn’t know you were already here.”
