His eyes drop to my lips for just a fraction of a second. And I swear the air between us thickens. I can feel him leaning in, just a hair closer, his scent — rain, soap, something undeniably him — curling around me.
I tilt my head up almost instinctively. My heart’s a drum in my chest, my lungs suddenly too small. I want it. I want it more than I should.
He pauses. Close enough that I can feel his breath, taste the storm on him. Close enough that the world tilts. Close enough that I start to imagine what it would be like to let it happen.
“Lucky,” he murmurs. A warning. A plea. A question.
I don’t answer. I only lean a fraction closer. The electricity in the air is unbearable, tangible.
Then… his hand slides down to rest lightly on my arm, firm and grounding. He pauses, hesitates. And just as my lips part, the phone in his back pocket vibrates loudly.
His body stiffens instantly, a line drawn. He swears under his breath, snatches the phone, and checks the screen. Lily.
“I’m coming, sweetheart,” he says into the phone, voice clipped but gentle.
He glances at me, briefly, eyes softening. “My parents and Charlotte are in town tonight. Do you want to come around my place for a bit? You can stay with Lily while I check the fuse box.”
I nod, words caught in my throat. My chest is still racing, my mind a whirlwind.
“Great,” he says, and there’s a flicker of relief in his tone. “I’d feel more comfortable if someone were with her during the storm.”
I realize then — really realize — how gorgeous he is. The dark hair plastered by rain, the light grey of his eyes catching the faint glow from the flashlight, the curve of his jaw, the way his muscles flex as he moves toward the electric box.
Something in me settles in a way I didn’t think was possible. My chest softens, but the tension lingers — sharp, sweet, unbearable.
And for the first time tonight, I allow myself to remember how close he was. How I wanted him to kiss me. The almost-kiss. The warmth in his hand. The pull between us that refused to be ignored.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to act normal, but normal is impossible. He’s gorgeous. He’s dangerous. He’s steady and chaotic all at once.
And I want him anyway.
Even as the storm rumbles louder, even as the house hums in darkness, I cling to that tiny, impossible thought, letting it fill me as he bends down to fiddle with the fuse box, oblivious to the effect he has on me.
The storm is wild. But inside, in this moment, my heart is wilder.
Chapter 14
Ethan
Thestormisdone.The rain has slowed to a drizzle, the wind dying down like someone finally turned off a giant fan. Lightning flickers in the distance, long after the worst of it, and the smell of wet pine and earth drifts through the open windows.
I’m back inside my house, standing awkwardly by the kitchen counter, hands in my pockets. Mum, Dad, and Charlotte have come in from dinner — laughter and clinking wine glasses from the other room. Lily’s gone to bed.
Lucky hasn’t moved yet. She’s sitting on the couch, the way she does when she’s caught between leaving and staying.
“You really don’t have to walk me,” she says softly, almost stubborn.
“Yes, I do,” I reply. Firm, clipped, but not unkind. My voice carries the weight of habit, of control. I don’t like letting anyone see me hesitate.
She stands, grabbing her key from the coffee table, and I hold the door open for her. Outside, the air smells clean and sharp, a subtle reminder that everything has been washed away — if only temporarily.
We fall into the same rhythm as last time, walking side by side. Close, but not too close. Not yet.
“You really don’t let anyone in, do you?” she asks, casually, but her eyes are sharp. “Not your parents, not Charlotte, not even friends. Then again, do you have them? Friends?”
“I do, and I don’t let people in easily,” I reply, clipped. My jaw tightens. “It’s… simpler this way.”
“Simpler?” she repeats, voice teasing. “You mean lonely, rigid, afraid of being seen.”
