I was in the middle of a scene where Cameron brought the heroine breakfast. Pastries, from a bakery that used the right amount of butter. He told her she was the most interesting person he’d ever met. It was fiction, and I was so damn focused on it that it took me a second to realize why the screen suddenly seemed way too bright.
The lights had gone out. One second I was typing, the next the room was plunged into darkness around me. Thunder rumbled outside, rain lashed against my windows. I’d been so absorbed in the story that I completely missed the storm building outside.
“Shit,” I muttered, checking my laptop. Three percent battery. “Shit, shit, shit.”
I saved the document frantically, watching the battery icon drain, and managed to close the file right before the screen died. Nice save.
As I could, I navigated the room to the circuit breaker by the glow of my phone flashlight. I flipped every switch, tried every combination, jiggled things that probably shouldn’t be jiggled. Nothing worked. I tried calling my landlord. No answer, straight to voicemail.
It was Sunday. The tattoo shop was closed, and I couldn’t afford an electrician, not with what Damien left of my finances. Between his forty percent cut and the “expenses” he claimed to pay on my behalf, I had approximately three hundred dollars to my name until my next royalty check.
I was alone in the dark, my phone battery was at thirty-six percent, and I really should conserve it. I scrolled through my contacts anyway, looking for someone who might help.
Sloane was out of town visiting her mom. Jade was probably with Thessa. Margo was probably working, because she had a bit of an addiction.
My thumb hovered over Caelan’s name.
He was nearby. One block away, according to where Sloane dropped him off. He was strong, capable. I shouldn’t call him. It was late, it was storming, this wasn’t his problem at all.
But my fingers were already pressing the call button. I bit my lip as it rang once, twice, then-
“Riley?” His voice was alert and not sleepy at all. “What’s wrong?”
“My power’s out.” I felt stupid saying it. It wasn’t an emergency, it was barely even a problem. “I tried the circuit breaker and itdidn’t work, and my landlord isn’t answering, and I know it’s late and storming, but I didn’t know who else to call, and you’re nearby, and I thought maybe you might know how to...”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Caelan, it’s pouring outside. You could just tell me how to fix it, you don’t have to...”
“Nine minutes.”
He hung up, and I stared at my phone. Well then.
I used the remaining battery to light candles. I had approximately three hundred of them, because I was a romance writer and candles were basically a professional requirement. Vanilla, lavender, “autumn leaves,” “ocean breeze,” various unnamed dollar store candles I’d bought in bulk during a depressive episode. By the time I’d scattered them around my living room, the golden light made everything feel softer, warmer, more intimate than intended. A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
I checked my phone. Seven minutes.
When I opened the door, Caelan was standing in my hallway looking like a drowned god.
His hair was plastered to his forehead, water running in rivulets down his face. His shirt, a thin cotton t-shirt that he clearly wasn’t expecting to get soaked, clung to his chest like a second skin. Transparent in places, outlining every muscle and line. Every ridge of his stomach. Bless the water that dampened that shirt so I could behold his fucking magnificent chest.
Water dripped from his jaw, from his elbows, from the hem of his shirt where it stuck to his hips.
He looked like he ran here, like he sprinted through a hurricane to get to me. And he was looking at me with those gray eyes like getting struck by lightning would have been a minor inconvenience compared to not showing up when I called.
“You came,” I said stupidly.
“You called.”
The simplicity of it cracked my chest open.You called, as if that was reason enough. As if my voice on the phone was a summons he would answer no matter what stood in his way.
“You’re soaking wet.”
“I noticed.”
“You’re going to catch pneumonia.” I said, unable to process a lot of thoughts while having his chest in front of me.
“I don’t get sick.”
