Page 101 of We Met Like This
I turned so my back faced the pile, held my hands out to my sides, then did a trust fall backward. “Oof,” I said as I landed. “Not as soft as I thought it was going to be.”
“I wish I’d gotten that on video.”
A tickling sensation on my arm prompted me to scratch it. That’s when I saw a small weevil crawling across my skin. I shrieked, stood up, and began brushing myself off while spinning in a circle and chanting, “Bugs, bugs, bugs.” I flipped my head over and shook out my hair. “Are there any more on me?”
“Stand still and let me look.” Oliver turned on his phone’s flashlight.
I went very still.
He inspected my back, then circled around to my front, where his eyes took in every inch of me. He smoothed my hair as he searched there, then brushed a strand off my face and met my eyes. “You’re clear.”
His hand hovered near my face, his flashlight still on me like it was highlighting every thought in my head.
“Oliver…”
A gust of wind burst into the silo, disturbing the grain as the air followed the path of least resistance out the top. It was followed by the loud slamming of the door. I jumped with the noise and Oliver let out a nervous laugh.
“Maybe Kari can claim the silo is haunted and that’s what interferes with the signal.” His hands retreated back to their space.
“It could be a thriller/romance/horror/ghost story.”
He walked over to the door and turned the handle. “She’s already bending genres. Might as well add one more.” He pushed on the door but it remained closed.
I laughed.
He pushed again, with his shoulder this time. “It’s stuck.” He rammed his shoulder into it. Nothing.
“Are you kidding?” I asked, walking over to him. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” He stepped aside to let me try.
I definitely didn’t think I was stronger than him, but this felt like a prank to me, so I tried. It didn’t budge.
“Good news,” Oliver said, looking at his phone.
“What?” I asked.
“You can tell Kari that inside a grain silo would be the perfect place for no cell service.”
I held up my phone. No bars. Then I laughed. It was a disbelieving laugh or a laugh that found this all very ironic.
“Speaking of books,” I said. “This is a well-loved trope in romances.”
“Getting stuck in a silo?”
“Getting stuck in general. It can be anywhere. A rooftop, an elevator, a library.”
“And then what happens?”
“Then the characters make out, which seems to either inspire them to figure out how to get out or sends some sort of signal into the universe to let some peripheral character in the book know they are trapped.”
“Are you suggesting we make out to bring order back to our world?”
I smiled. “Absolutely.”
His eyes collided with mine and his expression got serious. “It’s not, I uh… we…”
“What were you going to tell me in the car the other day? I stopped you, not wanting to hear it. But I need to know. Why don’t you like me back? It seemed like you did at one point or at least wanted to try. Am I too messy? Do you need me to be perfect before giving us a chance? Because I’ll never be perfect. I’m not my sister. If you want someone like that—”
