Chapter 34 Past
The rain was beating down on the car.
I sat in the passenger seat, trying my best to wring out my soaked uniform and wipe the water from my eyes.
Paul was just as drenched, but he came prepared. He peeled off his jacket and tossed it into the back floorboard, then reached behind the seat and pulled out a bundle of dry towels. He handed one to me and took one for himself.
I threw my uniform back there too, letting it join his jacket, then smiled as I dried what I could. Paul was working on his hair with way more enthusiasm than I had energy for.
I laughed. “Easy there, Killer. Someone might think we’re up to something with the way you’ve got this car rockin’.”
He gave me a devilish grin. “I mean—we could…” He trailed off, blushing as the weight of what he was about to say caught up to him.
“Paul!” I swatted the air, shaking my head like I was offended—but I wasn’t. Not really. A flicker of agreement must’ve flashed across my face.
Trying to steer the moment somewhere safer, I said, “Thanks for picking me up.”
He was wiping down the steering wheel but paused to meet my eyes.
“Of course,” he said. His smile softened. “I wouldn’t want my girl blowing away now.”
That made me smile too. “I just hope Molly doesn’t show up thinking I still need a ride.”
He laughed, already a step ahead. “Got it covered. Actually, it was her idea for me to come get you. She and Chad are… well, let’s just say his mom’s out of town with the stepdad.”
He gave me a look like you know what that means.
I nodded. “Makes sense. Good for them,” I said, with a laugh—though it came out a little more jealous than I meant for it to.
He caught it. “Don’t worry,” he said with a grin. “We’ve got plans of our own.”
He winked.
I cut my eyes at him, a mix of curiosity and something else I wasn’t ready to name dancing behind them.
“Molly said your mom already thinks you’re staying at her place. And technically… you are,” he added, a grin spreading. “You’ll just be about half an acre to the left.”
I shifted in my seat, the towel in my hand suddenly not the reason my palms felt damp.
Paul leaned in and kissed my cheek, then slowly pulled my seatbelt across my body, his eyes following mine the entire way.
My whole body buzzed.
He buckled himself in, started the engine, then rested his hand on my thigh.
I didn’t need him to say anything—his hand said enough. There was nothing subtle about where this was headed.
We pulled into his driveway, the rain still coming down in sheets.
Paul parked as close to the side steps as he could.
I wasn’t exactly sure where we were going, but I followed his lead.
“Don’t move—I’ll come around,” he said, grinning like he was preparing for a full sprint. “Here goes nothin’.”
He opened the door and stepped out into the downpour.
A second later, he was at my side, pulling the door open and reaching in to help me out.
The door closed behind me with a dull thud.
Hand in hand, we ran up the stairs, thunder crashing around us.
We were soaked and laughing the entire way.
Pausing under the covered entry, we tried brushing the excess water off with our hands—useless, but a valiant attempt.
He started toward the door, then glanced back and saw me hesitate.
Paul reached for my hand. “No one’s home,” he said, his voice softer now. “We’ve got the place to ourselves until tomorrow afternoon.”
It was either those words or the lightning strike that cracked close by, but something sent a pulse through me.
I gripped his hand a little tighter as he turned the handled and stepped inside.
I stood on the rug just past the doorway, trying not to drip water all over the oak floors.
Paul disappeared down the hallway to find us more towels.
The room was dark—no sunlight left, and none coming through with the storm—but even with the lights off, I could still see how beautiful and grand everything was.
I’d only ever seen pieces of the house before: his room, the hallway, the bathroom. Once, a glimpse of the foyer when I waited on the porch.
But now, standing here in the center of it all, soaked and trying to catch my breath, it felt… different.
I jumped as Paul appeared back in sight—guess I was half expecting someone else to walk around the corner and catch me standing there like a wet, lost puppy.
“Here ya go.” He said, as he handed me a fluffy white towel.
I dried off, then draped it over my shoulders.
“I’ll show you around.” He said reaching for my hand.
When we laced our fingers together, I could feel his nerves—he was trying to play it cool, but the slight tremble gave him away. Anyone else might’ve chalked it up to the chill from our soaked skin meeting the cooler air in the house… but I knew better.
Because I felt it too.
We walked past the sitting rooms, still holding hands.
By the time we reached the kitchen—easily big enough to fit my entire house inside—Paul glanced at me and asked, “You hungry?”
But the look in his eyes said he wasn’t thinking about food.
He was just trying to be polite.
Seeing it as an opportunity, I decided to take control of the situation.
I looked up at him, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him closer.
Steam from our damp clothes rose between us. I stood on my tiptoes, trying to sound serious…
“I’m hungry,” I said. “But not for food.”
There was a pause.
An awkward one.
Then we both cracked up.
“Did Molly tell you to say that?” he asked, already laughing.
“Shut up!” I groaned, my face burning.
“So what if she did?” Giving a little stomp like a toddler not getting her way.
“It sounded way sexier when she said it.” I added with a sheepish mumble.
His laugh turned into a full-blown cackle.
“Well,” he managed, wiping his eyes, “let’s let Chad be the only one who falls for Molly’s pickup lines tonight.”
Lowering his voice but still smiling, he said playfully, “I love you.”
Then he kissed me—soft and quick—right through the grin still on his face.
He pulled back and laughed again.
“C’mon,” he said casually, “you haven’t seen the rest of the place.”
He took my hand, and we kept walking.
We went upstairs and saw the other bedrooms. Paul explained that he preferred the room on the first floor.
“Imagine trying to sneak out from up here,” he joked.
We walked back down, and at the landing, he hesitated just slightly.
His room and bathroom were to the right, but one more door waited at the end of the hallway to the left.
He motioned toward it. “My dad’s study is down that way.”
I didn’t ask to see it. I didn’t need to. His dad always left me feeling uneasy.
But then Paul paused, shook off whatever thought had crept in, and said, “Ehh, what the heck. Let’s check it out.”
He reached for my hand and pulled me down the hallway that felt darker than the rest of the house.
We stopped just outside the door. He went for the handle. “Hmm. It’s unlocked,” he said, eyebrows raised with a mischievous smile.
The door opened with a soft, eerie screech.
Inside, my heart settled. It looked exactly how I’d imagined it.
Bookshelves lined the walls. A massive bay window filled the far side of the room, framed by heavy, floor-to-ceiling curtains. In the center sat a grand cherry oak desk, with a small reading lamp casting a soft pool of light that made the room feel… eerily peaceful.
I felt Paul’s grip tighten just a little.
I looked at him—his eyes were locked on a painting of his family hanging above the desk.
And though he didn’t say anything, I knew he was thinking about her. About his mom.
I decided it was my turn to step in—be the hero.
I gave his hand a gentle tug, pulling his focus back to me.
Speaking just above a whisper, I said, “I’m getting cold. Mind if we head to your room and get out of these wet clothes?”
His eyes met mine, the heaviness behind them softening.
“Of course.”
He leaned down, burying his face in my damp hair. “Let’s go.”
I led the way out. He pulled the door closed behind us.
The tour came to a sudden stop when we reached the bathroom—the one I already knew.
“Why don’t you warm up in the shower?” he said, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “I’ll grab you some clothes.”
I wanted to say no. To skip ahead and just be with him.
But the truth was, a warm shower would probably help the chill that had settled deep in my bones.
I kissed him in agreement—just a quick one—then stepped inside, leaving the door slightly cracked behind me—a subtle invite, perhaps.
I opened the shower door and reached in.
The water came on with a groan, and I let it run while I peeled off my soaked clothes, each piece landing on the tile with a wet thud.
I was just about to step inside when I heard the door open slowly.
I didn’t turn around. I didn’t need to.
I could feel him moving toward me.
His hands found my waist—warm against my cool, damp skin.
My breath hitched, breaking from its steady rhythm.
He pulled me closer. I felt the heat of his bare chest against my back. The chill I’d felt moments ago was gone.
His lips brushed the side of my neck. His hands slid up my stomach, slow and certain.
He used his body to guide us toward the rising fog of steam curling from the shower stall.
And then, the door clicked shut behind him.
His hands moved carefully, never rushing. Every touch felt like a question, and somehow, we kept answering each other without saying a word.
Time slowed. Or maybe we just let go of keeping track of it.
The air—thick with tension and the want of more.
When we finally stepped out, the room felt colder than before. He reached for a towel and wrapped it around me slowly, never breaking his gaze. He grabbed his towel and tied it loosely around his waist.
He didn’t say anything, he just offered a small, almost shy smile and held out his hand.
I took it.
We made our way down the hallway, bare feet on hardwood, hair still dripping wet. Everything was still—quiet. The only sound was the low rumble of thunder outside… and the burning ache of a moment waiting to break wide open.