Page 26 of From the Wreckage
Instead, I step out as the downpour hits, my arms stretched wide, my face tilted up to the sky. Rain soaks my hair, my shirt, my skin, but I don’t care.
“What are you doing?” His voice is sharp with disbelief.
I lower my head, grinning at him. “Dancing in the rain.”
His brows pull together. “But there’s no music.”
I spin in a slow circle, laughing. “Yes there is. It’s the sound of the rain on the roof, the trees, the grass. Music’s all around us.”
For a beat, he watches me. Then his expression softens, his mouth curving into the kind of smile that makes my knees weak. He steps forward, rain dripping from his dark hair into his eyes. “Dance with me?”
I melt instantly. When he pulls me close, I don’t care that we’re both soaked. His arms are warm and strong, holding me like I’m the only thing in the world he wants to be close to.
He slowly spins me in circles, his rain-soaked leather jacket cool against my cheek. The scent of him—leather, pine, and rain—does things to me that are probably illegal in ten states.
It’s magical. The storm rages around us, thunder rolls in the distance, and Everett holds me like I belong in his arms.
Thursday morning,after our walk, I settle into his porch chair expecting coffee. Instead, he sets a plastic cup in front of me, condensation beading down its sides. I blink in disbelief at the iced caramel latte.
My lips part. “You made this?”
He shrugs, trying to play it off. “Picked up a latte machine yesterday evening.”
My throat tightens. He drinks his coffee black. He bought that machine for me.
I take a sip, my chest swelling with something I’ve never felt before. He makes me feel seen. Special. Wanted.
And for the first time in my life, I believe I might actually be all those things.
CHAPTER 19
Everett
Friday morning,she sits curled on the couch beside me, sipping her latte like it’s nectar from the gods. I almost don’t want to tell her, but I promised myself I wouldn’t lie.
“I’m meeting a buddy for some beers tonight. Local bar.”
Her smile falters. She looks down at the glass in her hands, her bottom lip catching between her teeth.
I’m on my feet in seconds. “Hey.” I grab her wrist, hating the disappointment and sadness etched all over her face. “Come here.” My arms band around her, tugging her into my lap before she can argue. Her legs drape over mine, her hair brushing my chin as I cup her face, forcing her to look up at me. “There’s no one else, angel. You hear me? Nobody.”
Her eyes flicker up, uncertain.
I kiss her softly, then again, before whispering against her mouth, “Only you.”
The doubt in her gaze eases, replaced by something I’ve never seen from her before—trust. It damn near undoes me.
That afternoon,I drive her to an Italian restaurant in a neighboring town called Willow Creek. It’s small and quiet. The kind of place where the owner personally interacts with guests. We share breadsticks and pasta, and she chatters about college.
When I ask about her future, her whole face lights up. “I want to be a school counselor.”
I smile, leaning back. “You’ll be good at it. What made you choose that profession?”
Her expression falters, shadows clouding her eyes.
I reach across the table to brush my thumb over her knuckles. “You don’t have to tell me. Not until you’re ready.”
Her shoulders loosen, relief softening her features. She gives me a small, grateful smile, and just like that, the tension melts.
