But I must slip into another bout of sleep, because when I come to, the car is pelted with pouring rain. It makes rhythmic sounds against the steel above us. Rafe is driving at a slow pace, both hands on the wheel.
“Wow,” I say. “Did this… how long has this been going on?”
“The rain started half an hour ago. Weather report says it won’t stop anytime soon.” He glances at me. “We’re taking a detour. We’re almost there.”
I look around. We’re on a smaller road now. “Where?”
His voice is tight, and he turns the car in an almost crawl around a bend. The heavy water is making it hard to see. “The family has a chalet here. We can stop there for a few hours. It’s not safe to drive with this weather.”
“Your family’s place?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Do you have the key on you? This wasn’t… planned.”
“No,” he says, “but it has a keypad.”
“Oh. High tech.”
“Yeah.” The windshield wipers are moving furiously over the front window, and above, thunder crashes. It’s oddly cozy, and terrifying, and I wrap my arms around myself.
He notices. “Are you cold again?”
“No. I’m fine, I think.”
“You slept for another two hours.”
“I did?”
“Yes.” The road takes us into a small mountain village, and we pass by wooden houses on either side. Wrought iron lampposts line the street. The downpour makes it hard to fully appreciate the cuteness.
We pass a small roundabout with pink flowers that are being decimated by the rain. Rafe drives up a winding road and stops by the gate of a huge wooden chalet. His arm gets wet when he types in the code, and then we’re inside, the car pulling to a stop.
He turns the engine off, and the sudden quiet is immediately broken by another bout of thunder from above.
“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll get you an umbrella from inside.”
That makes me laugh. “I can handle some rain.”
“You shouldn’t have to. You’re sick.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.” I unbuckle myself. “You’re doing so much for someone you don’t even like.”
I expect him to smile. Snark back. Find the groove again in our familiar banter, the one we’ve always had, even back when we couldn’t stand each other. But he doesn’t. He looks outside and then back at me.
“Stay here,” he tells me again, and disappears out into the rain.
There’s a part of me that wants to rebel.I can handle myself.But I’m tired, and my head has started to hurt again, so I waitin the car and watch him unlock the door. He carries our bags in and then returns with an umbrella.
That thing in my stomach again, that unsettled feeling, returns.
The inside is gorgeous. Stone fireplace, large wooden furniture, faux-fur throws. It feels homey and grand, a combination you’d think wouldn’t work but somehow does.
I end up on the couch with the fireplace roaring and more pills to take. The rain continues to pelt outside. It’s a good thing we stopped. And by the time it’s nearing sunset, there’s no point in continuing on.
He’s sitting in the armchair opposite me. He’s been quiet since we arrived, like there’s a thunderous cloud of his own over his head. For long stretches of time, I lose him entirely to staring into the fire.
“We’re staying here for the night,” I ask him, “aren’t we?”
