“When I have kids, I’ll let them run in the rain in our wellies, and then dry them off inside and give them warm cocoa and cuddles.” I smile at the notion.
His dimple pops when he smiles in return. “You’ll make a great mom. I’ll be nothing like my father. Strict. Controlling.” He grunts. “Though my kids probably won’t want anything to do with football.”
“As long as they like the football player, I suppose that’s all that matters.”
His flirtatious smile morphs into one of deep appreciation, as though he’s grateful that I understand his meaning about him and his father having a difficult relationship.
“Are we both stalling?” Chase asks after a beat.
“I think we need to take the plunge,” I say.
“Okay. On the count of three.” Chase counts us down.
We exchange a glance and then rush into the rain, holding onto each other to keep from slipping in the near darkness. Chase’s hand is around my waist and I grip his side as we skitter up the steps next door.
When we reached Chase’s door, he turns the knob, but it doesn’t open. He jiggles the handle. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Did you lock yourself out?”
He puts his palm against his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated.
I like it better when he smiles.
The overhang barely keeps the rain off us. Since we’re already soaked, I tug Chase back through the gate. Gripping his hand, I look both ways and then run into the street, splashing in the puddles.
Chase laughs, as hand in hand, we run up and down the street, splashing and laughing.
“No moms or dads can stop us now,” I say, spinning a circle with my palms lifted to the sky.
He catches me in his arms and lifts me so we’re face to face as we twirl around through the street, filling the night with happy laughter. As Chase lowers me to my feet, I move slowly, sliding down his chest. We’re so close. His hands remain on my waist and his eyes hang onto mine.
“Here we are again,” he says in a low voice.
The rain slows to a drizzle. His hair is soaked and water trickles along his jawline. I want to plant my lips on the spot where it turns toward his ear. Instead, I whisper, “It’s just us.”
“What do we do now?” he asks as though leaving the answer up to me.
“We should—” My voice is as soft as the pattering rain.
But before I finish the sentence, our mouths press together. There is only one answer. Kiss.
I forget where I am. Who I am. The rules, my objections, and everything that potentially separates me from Chase dissolve. The rain washes it away. It’s him and me and the sparks lighting the space between us. Despite the locked door to the brownstone, the kiss opens the door to possibility.
Could we make it work?
His hands circling my waist say yes.
My fingers tracing the firm muscles of his back are an affirmation.
The energy, the heat, the fire, despite the rain, is one big shout of,Oh yeah!
After we part, we return to the house. Chase tries the door again. “Rylen from my team has my extra keys, but I’m pretty sure he’s still on his honeymoon.” He sends a text. “I’ll have to call a locksmith, but in the meantime, I guess we have to hunker down in the flooded house.” He laughs. “Why is everything sowet? Inside, outside. Me.” He gives his head a strong shake like a puppy dog.
I squeal at the drops of water and he clobbers me with another kiss, this one playful.
We enter the brownstone to the tune ofdrip, drip, drop.
“Borrowing from the teachings in the Bible with Noah and the Ark, a flood can make way for new beginnings and remind us to have hope, faith,” I say.
