“Then what exactly were you doing standing at the edge of a cliff in the rain?”
I look past him toward the churning water below, but it isn’t easy to focus on anything except his proximity. “Someone close to me jumped from here twelve years ago. I was eight.” The words taste like salt on my tongue. “I’ve been trying to understand why ever since.”
Something shifts in his expression, not quite softening, but a flicker of recognition. His eyes, gray as the storm clouds gathering above us, hold mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“Understanding why someone leaves isn’t the same as following them,” he says, his voice dropping lower.
Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating his face for an instant. Strong jaw, rain-slicked skin, intensity radiating from every angle of his body. My heart pounds against my ribs in a rhythm that has nothing to do with fear or grief.
“I know the difference,” I snap, but heat rushes to my cheeks, betraying me. I take a step back, suddenly aware of how close we’re standing. We’re close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body despite the rain.
“Do you?” He moves forward, closing the distance I’d created. An electric current passes between us, making the hair on my arms stand on end. His gaze drops to my mouth, lingers there long enough to make my lips part.
I should step back again. I don’t.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the storm.
“I know you’re standing in the exact spot where your life changed forever.” He leans in, his breath warm against my rain-chilled skin. “That’s not a place anyone should revisit alone.”
The air between us thickens, charged with something that has nothing to do with the lightning overhead. I can see water droplets clinging to his lashes, the storm reflected in his eyes. His hand comes up, fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from my face, and the touch sends electricity skating across my skin.
“Maybe I want to be alone,” I manage, but it comes out breathless, unconvincing.
“Liar.” The word is soft, almost tender, and he’s so close now I can feel the ghost of his breath against my lips. His other hand finds my waist, not pulling, just... resting there. A question.
My hands find his chest again, but this time I’m not pushing away. I’m gripping his soaked shirt, holding on as the world tilts around us. His thumb traces slow circles against my hip through the wet fabric, and I feel that touch everywhere.
“We don’t even know each other,” I breathe, but I’m tilting my face up, drawn by some magnetic force I can’t name.
“No,” he agrees, his nose brushing against mine, lips hovering so close I can almost taste him. “We don’t.”
The rain pounds around us, but all I can focus on is the fraction of an inch between our mouths, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, the way his fingers flex against my waist like he’s restraining himself from pulling me closer.
I rise onto my toes, closing the distance until our lips are a whisper apart. Barely touching, just the promise of contact, the ghost of a kiss that makes my entire body ache with want.
His hand slides into my wet hair, cradling the back of my head, and I feel him tremble. We stay like that, suspended in the moment, breathing each other’s air, lips barely grazing in a touch that’s somehow more intimate than any kiss I’ve ever experienced.
Thunder crashes overhead, breaking the spell.
He pulls back first, just inches, his eyes dark with something that makes my stomach flip. “You should go inside,” he says, his voice rough. “Before you catch your death out here.”
The loss of his warmth feels like a physical blow.
I step back and cross my arms over my chest. I’m not sure if it’s to ward off the cold or to hide how hard I’m breathing. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “No,” he agrees, his gaze raking over me once more with undisguised heat. “I don’t.”
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, the roar of the ocean fades. There’s only the rain between us, the inexplicable pull that makes me want to close the distance again even as warning bells sound in my head.
I break away first, turning toward the house before I do something foolish. “Thank you for your concern, but I can handle myself.”
“You’re welcome to believe that,” he says, and I can hear the amusement in his tone. “But I’d suggest staying away from cliff edges during rainstorms.” A pause, heavy with unspoken meaning. “Among other dangerous things.”
I don’t turn around, don’t trust myself to look at him again. My lips still tingle from the almost-kiss, my body still hums with unfulfilled electricity.
“It’s fine,” I manage, still unsettled by the intensity of our encounter and how badly I’d wanted him to close that final fraction of distance. “Thank you for... checking.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, and I can feel his gaze on my back like a physical touch. Finally, I hear his footsteps in the mud, moving away. I risk a glance over my shoulder and watch him move through the rain, noting the straight line of his shoulders, the confident set of his stride. Despite the weather, he doesn’t hurry or hunch against the downpour. The property linebetween my father’s land and his neighbor’s is marked by a low stone wall, which he vaults over effortlessly.
