I watch her slide into the driver’s seat. She smiles at me once she shuts the door, but there’s something about the way her fingers grip the steering wheel. A moment later, she starts the engine and drives away, and I stand there, watching her disappear down the road.
Once she’s out of sight, I pull out my phone again, checking the weather update, taking in the mass of dense clouds and wind moving toward us. Turning back to my crew, I call out, “Alright, pack it up. We’ll head back to the workshop for now. Looks like the weather’s going to be bad for the next few days, and we’ve got some big storms on the horizon.”
But even as we start loading things into our vehicles, my mind’s still on Kelly. On her mouth, her beautiful face. On all the things I want to say.
If I had it my way, I’d have been in the passenger seat beside her. Hell, I’d be anywhere, as long as it’s with her. I can’t shake the pull of her, the way everything else fades when she’s in front of me, brighter and more radiant than the sun.
Chapter 21
Jake
The next day,I park my truck in the parking lot by town hall and get out, pulling the hood of my jacket over my head. Kelly’s already waiting outside for me under a bright yellow umbrella. Light rain falls, and the sky is a brooding canvas of dark clouds, roiling and churning overhead. I wince as a crack of lightning splits the horizon, a prelude to what’s coming.
“Hey,” Kelly says, her voice carrying over the rumble of distant thunder. “You ready?”
“Kelly, look at this weather.” I gesture toward the ominous skies. “It’s getting worse by the minute. I know you really want to go today, but we should probably reschedule.”
Her jaw sets in a firm line, fingers drumming against her thigh. I’ve issued her a challenge. “I can’t postpone. There’s too much to do before Founder’s Day. It’ll be fine.”
“Fine?” I shake my head, but there’s going to be no convincing her. “The roads will turn into rivers if we get half the rain they’re predicting. Let me take you in the truck, at least.”
“Your truck?”
“It’s safer than your car if the roads get slippery,” I say. “Adele’s with her mom today, so I won’t need to rush off to get her from school. We can stay as long as you need, provided we don’t get totally washed out.”
Kelly hesitates, her gaze flickering between the safety of my truck and her own small vehicle. “Only because you’re being so pushy.”
“Pushy keeps people safe,” I reply, trying to ignore the twist in my heart as I take in the way her hair curls around her face from the moisture in the air. Her skin is porcelain, those dark eyes staring at me, lips moist and smelling of cherry candy.
She climbs into the passenger seat of my truck and I start the engine, glancing over at her profile—poised, collected. But I see the way her hands fidget, lining up the pens clipped to her clipboard.
“Thanks for this,” she says over the pattering of rain.
“Anytime,” I reply. And I mean it. For her, anything, anytime.
The truck rolls forward, wipers moving back and forth, and soon we’re out of town on the road toward the Pine Barrens. The rain thickens, drops hammering against the windshield.
I grip the steering wheel a bit too hard, hyper-aware of Kelly’s presence. My hand is itching to reach over and touch her leg, but I keep my eyes on the road, focusing on the blur of green and gray as the Pine Barrens rise up on all sides.
“Remember when we used to come out here in high school?” she asks. “Those parties Ethan used to throw?”
“Hard to forget,” I say, thinking back to those days when everything seemed simpler, when our biggest concern was whether we’d get caught by the rangers. “You’d be shocked if you spent any time with him now. He and Blake are so loved up. They have a couple of foster kids and they’re expecting.”
“Yeah, I caught that at the wedding.” Too late, Kelly clamps her lips closed. Suddenly we’re both thinking about what happened that night—her cheeks have gone an adorable shade of pink.
I imagine myself stopping the car, pulling her into my lap, her curves against me... Shit. I try to surreptitiously adjust my jeans, forcing myself to think of cold showers and tax returns.
I switch gears and my fingers twitch, dangerously close to her thigh. It’s a battle to keep them still, but I manage, focusing on the road ahead as the storm turns the sky darker and the rain intensifies.
“Looks like it’s getting worse,” she says finally, breaking the silence. “Good thing I bought my umbrella.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her it might be a boat she needs with the clouds looking so angry, but I don't want to disappoint her or let her down when this matters so much to her. So I just say, “Yep. We’re almost there. Let’s make this quick.”
I pull over at the start of the trail Kelly wanted to check out and stop the engine. She’d been talking about setting it up with old photographs and posters with information about the town’s history, calling it a heritage trail, with local artwork scattered along the path and stands selling mulled wine and winter snacks.
Kelly grabs her umbrella and I pull my hood up once more, and we both step outside and start walking up the trail. Then, as though the heavens were just waiting for our arrival, they really go full throttle, unleashing a torrent that drenches us in seconds, the rain coming in sideways, inside my jacket and under Kelly’s now useless umbrella, which she’s struggling to hold on to in the tearing wind. We lock eyes and the situation’s so hopeless, there’s nothing to do but laugh.
“Come on,” I shout, and we run back to the shelter of my truck. We both get in and slam the doors. “Damn, this is one hell of a storm.”
