Page 92 of Until the Storm Breaks
Lark blushes but smiles genuinely. “Thanks. That actually means a lot.”
After she leaves, locking the door behind her, Calvin and I sit in the quiet bar just looking at each other. We’re both smiling, warm from wine and the unexpected joy of the last hour.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching across to take his hand. “For being so encouraging with her. She needed to hear that from someone who isn’t me.”
“I meant every word,” Calvin says, his fingers interlacing with mine. “She’s genuinely talented. She should go for it.” He reaches across with his free hand to touch my face gently. “Same goes for you. Your writing matters too.”
“Calvin...” I start, but the way he’s looking at me, I thinkmaybe he’s right. Maybe it is time to take my own writing seriously, to stop treating it like a silly dream.
“I’m serious,” he says, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “You have stories to tell, Maren. Don’t let anyone, especially yourself, convince you otherwise.”
The way he’s looking at me, steady and sure, makes my heart race. I lean across the small table and kiss him, tasting wine and promise.
“Let’s go home,” I whisper against his lips.
“Home,” he agrees, and the word means everything.
The rain starts just as we’re locking up the bar, fat drops that splatter on the wooden deck outside.
We’d parked at the cabins earlier and walked to the memorial, which seemed brilliant at the time. Now, looking at the dark sky opening up, maybe not so much.
“We’re going to get soaked,” Calvin says, but he’s grinning as he takes my hand. “Ready to run for it?”
Within seconds we’re drenched through. Not just rain but a proper storm, the kind that turns the air silver and makes the world feel electric. Thunder rolls somewhere over the Sound, and I shriek when the cold water runs down my back.
“This is insane,” I yell over the downpour, but I’m laughing. We’re both laughing, stumbling along the muddy trail, our dress clothes plastered to our bodies.
Calvin spins me around suddenly, catching me against him. Water runs down his face, his white dress shirt transparent and clinging to every line of his chest. He looks at me like I’m everything, even though my hair is plastered to my head and my makeup is probably somewhere around my chin.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and has to shout it over the rain.
“You’re blind,” I shout back, but he’s already kissing me, rightthere in the middle of the storm. His hands frame my face, and I can taste rain and wine and joy. Thunder cracks again, closer, and we break apart laughing.
We stumble-run the rest of the way, slipping in the mud, grabbing onto each other for balance. Calvin catches my hand, pulling me along, both of us breathless with laughter and rain.
By the time we crash through his cabin door, we’re gasping and completely drenched. I lean back against the closed door, trying to catch my breath, and he’s right there, crowding into my space in the best way. Water drips from his hair onto my face.
“I love you,” he says, voice rough. “God, Maren, I love you. Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that.”
“You’re crazy,” I tell him, but I’m pulling him closer by his soaked shirt.
“Crazy about you,” he agrees, and kisses me again, deeper this time. His hands slide into my wet hair, and I can feel the heat of him through our cold, wet clothes. He presses me back against the door, and I’ve never felt more alive.
“We need to get out of these clothes,” I gasp between kisses. “We’re making a lake on your floor.”
“Don’t care about the floor,” he says against my neck, but he’s already working on the buttons of his shirt with one hand, the other still buried in my hair.
I help him with the buttons, my fingers fumbling with the wet fabric. When he finally peels the shirt off, I just stare for a moment. The sight of him, all lean muscle, water still running down his chest, makes me forget how to breathe. This beautiful, brilliant man who loves me, who wants to upend his entire life for me.
He steps closer, his hands going to the zipper of my dress. “Let me help.”
The way he looks at me, worshipful and hungry at the sametime, makes me feel powerful. Desired. Chosen. Like I’m the only woman in the world.
“Calvin,” I breathe, and he understands everything in that one word.
“I know,” he says, pulling me against him. “I know.”
My dress falls to the floor in a wet heap and his hands skim up my sides, leaving trails of heat despite our rain-chilled skin.
