Page 55 of To Catch a Firefly

Not the question I was expecting. “Dog,” I say. “Looking for a dog.”

“Where?”

I fumble for a moment. “Field near…Miner and Fourth.” I’ve barely finished listing the street names when the line goes dead.

For a moment, I wonder if… But, no. Surely not.

I stick my phone back in my pocket and resume the search. I’m almost done with this area when there’s a loud honk that nearly sends me out of my skin. It persists for a good seven seconds before I’m able to get myself into gear and move my feet toward the noise. The honking doesn’t stop. There’s a tap, followed by another, someone clearly trying to get my—or another’s—attention. I tell myself it’s not him—there’s no way it’s him—but I think I know, even before I’ve cleared the field.

It is him. Lucky. Standing beside a beige car with his arm reaching through the driver’s side door. He stops honking the horn when I step into the clearing, and then he stands up straight. He’s wet, same as me, the rain coming down between us like a blanket of mist.

I can’t take another step as Lucky shuts the car door and tromps my way. I feel rooted. Stuck. Completely immobilized.

“What did you mean?” he calls once he’s close enough. My heart thuds. “Who? Who did you mean?”

I can’t get my voice to work. Don’t even want to.

“Ellis,” he yells, stopping right in front of me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so determined. No, that’s not true. He was wearing a similar face that day he snuck paint into school. But what I don’t understand iswhy?Why is he here? Is hethatangry with me?

“How…” I start, waving to him.

“Not glad to see me?” he counters, hands on his hips.

I glower.

“Answer the question,” he says.

I know which one he means.

“Why?” I say, stalling. “Why are you…”—I huff out a breath—“back so soon?”

Lucky steps forward, putting us toe to toe. For the briefest of moments, something akin to fear flashes in his eyes. But then it’s gone, and Lucky is answering the question. “To do what I should have done the last time I was here.”

I don’t have time to unwrap those words before Lucky is going up on his toes, tugging me in by the back of the neck, and pressing his lips to mine.

I freeze. For a split second, I freeze, completely caught unawares and unable to make sense of what’s happening. But when Lucky’s mouth urges against my own, demanding something—anything—I snap.

I kiss him back, my hands threading into his hair, my lungs infiltrated with the heady scent of citrus as everything in me sparks to attention like the quick snap of a lightning strike. I almost expect to hear a boom of thunder, but there’s only Lucky’s sound of desperation and the feel of his lips on mine. Like softness. Like surrender. Like every whisper of home I’ve ever heard.

For a moment, I float in it. My heart beats, my head sings, and my hands grip tight, not wanting to let go. But when Lucky’s hand trails down my stomach, his touch sure, fingers snaking under my shirt and landing like a brand against my skin, I pull back. He looks surprised, eyes snapping open and pinging between my own. But neither of us has a chance to say a word before a tornado siren pierces the air.

Lucky curses, his eyes wide. “We have to go.”

I nod, grabbing Lucky’s arm and pointing to the east. I passed an old farmhouse only 300 feet from here with an underground hatch that likely leads down to cold storage. I have no clue how close the tornado touched down, but I’m not about to wait and find out, and driving fifteen minutes back home isn’t a safe option.

Lucky doesn’t question me. He gives me a swift nod and follows as I jog along the edge of the field toward the farmhouse.

“Your mom?” he yells over the rain that’s now pelting our faces.

“Okay,” I manage. Even if the Buchanans aren’t there, my mom will be able to lower herself into the shelter on her own. The door is rigged to close from a push button at the bottom.

It doesn’t take long to reach the old farmhouse. No one appears to be home—there are no cars in the driveway, no people emerging from the house—so I don’t hesitate to head straight for the hatch and give it a tug. Thankfully, it opens with ease, showing steps that lead down under the house. I urgeLucky in first before glancing back at the skyline. I can’t see any tornadoes, but the rain is coming down with force now, and the clouds above are dark and foreboding.

I shut the door before heading down the stone steps, my breaths ragged. Lucky sounds equally winded, his shirt sticking to his skin, his hair a mess around his head. There’s a lantern-radio combo sitting on a shelf next to a whole collection of various canned goods, and after confirming cell service is nonexistent down here, I make my way over to it. The radio crackles to life as Lucky steps up beside me.

“Okay?” he asks quietly.

I nod, giving him a questioning look.

---