“Kiss you?” he asked softly. “Because I’m dying to.”
She held his gaze, silent, the look in her eyes a perfect match for the longing in his chest.
“Nobody’s going to die on my watch,” she said, trying for humor but the moment was too heavy with anticipation for laughter.
“Then kiss me, Pepper. It’s the only way.”
Smiling, she leaned in and angled her head, offering her perfect, sweet lips to his.
There was nothing frantic about the kiss, nothing passionate or desperate or anything like the storm that raged outside.
This first connection was slow and certain, achingly so. She turned into it and put one hand flat against his chest, not pushing, just resting, just feeling where his heart was hammering against his breastbone.
He kissed her until the storm and the dogs and the whole boarded-up coast had gone somewhere very far away, and when they finally drew apart it was just enough to breathe, her forehead against his jaw.
She stayed very still against him with her hand on his chest, until she sighed and whispered, “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“Before this goes any further. Before you—” She drew back enough to look at him, her eyes teary again, but steady. “There’s a thing about me, Jonah. And it’s going to change how you see me. I need you to know that going in. It changes how…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed. “It’s the reason five years ended.”
Jonah’s chest had gone tight, but not with fear. This was more of a fierce, surprising preparation.
“Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter,” he said, desperate for her to know that.
“Oh, it’ll matter.”
“No. Listen. I really like you. There is nothing you can tell me that turns you into a person I see as anything other than light. Bright, and light, and?—”
“Don’t.” Her voice wavered as she put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t promise that yet. You don’t get to promise that yet.”
“Then tell me, and I’ll promise it after.”
She took a breath. He watched her gather her thoughts and square herself like a dancer taking her place centerstage.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay. When I was?—”
The lights went out and somewhere, in the distance, there was a crash.
Suddenly, everything was black and noisy. The house plunged into a darkness so total that Jonah felt it land on his skin. The storm had gotten in.
Without a word, he leaped from the bed, tripped over a dog, but righted himself, moving on instinct to the dresser where he’d left his phone.
He patted around, knocked over a bottle, but found it. Instantly, he tapped the flashlight icon and the white light landed right on Pepper’s horrified face.
“I think it’s the kitchen door,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the howling wind.
Immediately, Atlas let out a scream.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “You stay here with him!”
Following the light beam, he barreled down the hall, to the freight train of deafening wind and sheets of rain pouring into the breakfast nook. He fought the air and felt the rain as he muscled his way toward the door banging open against the wall, throwing his phone on the counter to shed an eerie light onto the ceiling.
Using all his strength, he pushed it back against the storm.
For a moment, he thought the door would win, but by brute power, he got it closed and—thank you, God—latched. Instantly, he grabbed the phone and used it to search the area, spying a sizeable recliner in the den.
Sorry, Marcel.
