The first fat drops hit her cheek like a warning.
Bea ducked under the old cypress tree outside the philosophy hall, dragging her soggy tote higher on her shoulder. The branches above caught most of the downpour, but wind curled the rain sideways, misting her knees and ankles. Her shoes squelched. Her socks were already done for.
It wasn’t even cold. Just that raw, miserable kind of wet that made everything feel worse than it was.
She stared out toward the path home. Ten minutes.
If she ran, maybe seven.
She wasn’t a runner. There was no elegant way to do this.
She double-checked her bag, but knew she wouldn’t find an umbrella in there. It had been sunny when she left this morning.
From the edge of her vision, a figure cut across the square. She didn’t need to look twice. The stride alone gave him away—long, confident, unhurried. Like he wasn’t even aware it was raining. Like the raging of the elements didn’t bother him.
Rafael didn’t rush. Didn’t call her name. Just came to a stop in front of her, still standing in the rain, and extended a wide black umbrella overhead, gripping it with one hand. She caughta glimpse of white wrist tape beneath his sleeve. The other stayed in the pocket of his dark jeans.
Bea blinked up at him. He was perfectly dry.
She was not. She was a mess. “Are you stalking me?”
“I have class in this building.” He nodded toward the lecture hall behind her. “I saw you heading out. Figured you wouldn’t have anything.”
She didn’t know what to do with that. How closely he noticed her. How often he was just…there. When technically, he shouldn’t be. Graduate students were barely on campus; they worked more than they studied.
Rafael tilted the umbrella slightly to cover more of her. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
The umbrella hovered over both of them, wide enough to block her completely from the rain. The space beneath it was warmer than it should’ve been.
Bea hung back at first.
And then—against the silent part of her brain insistingdon’t—she moved into place beside him.
They walked. Not quickly. The rain pattered ceaselessly against the umbrella, its rhythm steady.
Her heartbeat wasn’t. If anything, it got worse.
She kept her gaze forward. “Gage wouldn’t like it.” The words came out quietly. Not as an accusation. More like an apology neither of them had asked for.
Gage wasn’t even in the country. He’d left a few days ago for London, gone for a month this time.
Rafael stopped walking. She slowed too. “I know,” he said. His jaw flexed once. “You always choose what he’ll like.”
She flinched inwardly. That wasn’t fair. But maybe it was true. Or close enough to sting.
He held the umbrella toward her. She took it before she could think better of it—his fingers brushing hers, warm despite the weather.
“Get home safe, little Bea.”
“Raf—”
He didn’t wait. Didn’t argue. Didn’t offer her a reason not to go.
He just stepped out into the rain.
It took him instantly. Sank into his hair, his shoulders, the sharp line of his collar. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t duck his head. He stood there in it for a beat, shoulders square, gaze pinned to hers, unblinking. Then he turned away.
No umbrella, no pause. Just him, disappearing into the storm like he belonged to it.
