No new messages. She's home. She's safe.
I force myself inside, but sleep doesn't come easy. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to rain hammer the roof, and all I can think about is her alone in her apartment while the storm rages.
Twelve hours. I lasted twelve hours before I found an excuse to see her.
Tomorrow, I won't even bother with excuses. The umbrella is enough.
I'll just go back where I belong.
Chapter three
Elorie
The power dies with a sharp click, then a low whine that makes my heart lurch.
One second, the bookstore glows warm with overhead lights and fairy strings along the brick, the next I'm swallowed by darkness so unexpected my breath catches. Thunder shakes the building hard enough to rattle mugs on their hooks, and I grip the edge of the sink to steady myself.
Rain hammers the windows in sheets, turning the world outside into nothing but a black and gray blur. Shadows press in from every corner, and my pulse climbs fast. The night I left Denver, thunder cracked overhead just like this while I drove through rain that blurred everything into streaks of gold and red.
I force myself to breathe. The bookstore smells like espresso grounds and old books, familiar and grounding, but the darkness swallows everything else. The dim illumination from the exit lights does little to make me feel comfortable without Brooks here.
I hum under my breath without meaning to, the melody soft and tuneless. It's a habit I picked up somewhere along the way, a way to fill the silence when my thoughts get too loud. Headlights sweep across the windows. A familiar truck pulls up outside. Relief and want twist in my chest. Brooks. He cuts the engine and climbs out, his jacket pulled up around his shoulders as he jogs through the rain toward the door.
I unlock it before he knocks, pulling it open and stepping back. Water drips from the brim of his cap onto the floor, and his boots leave wet prints across the tile. He fills the doorway, broad and steady, and the sight of him makes my lungs work easier. "Power's out," I say. It's obvious, but I need to say something.
"I know." He pulls off his cap and runs a hand through his damp hair. Rain clings to his jaw, following the line of that faint scar. He sets the umbrella back in its spot with his other hand. "The whole block went dark. A transformer blew a few streets over."
"How long will it take to fix?"
"Couple hours, maybe more. Depends on when the linemen can get to it."
Thunder cracks overhead, loud enough to rattle the windows. I flinch before I can stop myself, and his eyes track the movement. Sharp. Assessing. His jaw tightens.
"You shouldn't be here alone," he says, and his voice drops lower, rougher.
"I was just about to leave."
"In this?" He nods toward the windows where rain lashes against the glass hard enough to blur the streetlights. "Roads are flooded from all the rain we’ve had. You won't make it two blocks."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Stay here." He says it as if it's the only option. As if the idea of me driving through this storm makes him physicallyuncomfortable. "I'll stay with you until the power comes back on or the rain lets up."
My throat tightens, but this time it's not from fear. It's from the way he's looking at me as though he's already decided, and nothing I say will change his mind.
"You don't have to do that."
"I know." His fingers curl at his sides, then release, in a deliberate, controlled movement.
"But you're going to anyway."
The corner of his mouth lifts. "Yeah."
Words fail me. I don't want him to leave. I don't want to be alone in the dark with nothing but the storm and memories I can't outrun.
"Okay," I whisper. "Thank you."
He nods and moves toward the counter, setting his cap down and shrugging out of his jacket. His uniform shirt hugs his shoulders. I force my eyes away before I catalog the way the fabric pulls across his chest and the flex of muscle in his forearms.
