23. Luisa
— ? —
Luisa
The town had begun, treacherously, to thaw toward Wade.
It started small, a nod from Tom at the hardware store, a wave from the barista at the coffee shop. Then it grew. The fishermen at the docks started greeting him by name. The librarian held books for him. The owner of the general store gave him the locals’ discount without being asked.
But the worst offenders were the grandmothers.
“Our Wade is coming along nicely with his footwork,” Doris announced at the start of class, setting out a plate of cookies she’d baked specifically for him. “He’s got real potential.”
Our Wade.
I nearly flipped the table.
“He’s not our anything,” I muttered, adjusting the speaker system with more force than necessary.
“Of course not, dear.” Agnes exchanged a knowing look with Fern. “He’s yours.”
“He’s not-”
“Pass the shortbread, would you, Maude?”
I gave up.
The conversation from yesterday kept replaying in my head, threatening my sanity. Every word Wade had said. Every explanation. Every terrible, heartbreaking detail of what his father had done and why Wade had pushed me away.
I believed him.
God help me, I believed every word.
And I didn’t know what to do with that.
Class was supposed to start at 10 a.m. At 9:45, my phone buzzed with a weather alert, SEVERE STORM WARNING. DANGEROUS CONDITIONS EXPECTED. SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY.
I frowned at the screen. The sky outside was gray but not threatening. Maybe the forecast was wrong.
More messages came in. Agnes: Staying home today, dear. These old bones don’t do well in nor’easters. Doris: Storm’s coming in fast. Tom says it’s a bad one. See you Thursday! Fern: Take care of yourself, Luisa. Don’t drive in this weather.
One by one, the grandmothers canceled. The other students too, the few younger people who occasionally joined. Everyone was staying home.
Everyone except me.
I stood alone in the studio, the lights buzzing overhead, watching the sky through the windows darken from gray to charcoal to nearly black in the span of fifteen minutes. The first drops of rain hit the glass like tiny fists.
Then the wind came.
It screamed around the corners of the building, rattling the windows in their frames. The rain went horizontal, sheets of water driven sideways by gusts that made the old structure creak and groan. Lightning split the sky, followed immediately by thunder so loud it made my teeth vibrate.
This wasn’t a normal storm.
This was a monster, one of those freak coastal systems that had no business showing up in June and did anyway.
I should leave. Get home. Poppy was with the neighbors today, Mrs. Patterson from two doors down, who watched her sometimes when the nanny wasn’t available, and I needed to get to her.
I was grabbing my keys when the studio door flew open.
Wade stumbled through, soaking wet, his clothes plastered to his body like a second skin. Water streamed from his hair, his face, his hands. He looked like he’d just crawled out of the ocean.
And God help me, soaked to the bone, dripping onto my floor, the whole town about to slide into the sea, some feral, disloyal corner of my brain took one look at the soaked shirt sculpted to every line of him, at the water dripping off the ends of his hair, at the way the wet cotton clung to the flat of his stomach and the dark trail of hair below it, and thought, with perfect clarity: oh, no.
I hated that corner of my brain. I told it to drown. It absolutely did not.
“Jesus Christ.” He slammed the door shut against the wind. “That came out of nowhere.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Coming to class.” He blinked water out of his eyes. “Obviously.”
“Class is canceled. Everyone else stayed home.”
“I didn’t get that message.”
“Because I didn’t send it. I didn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to come out in-” I gestured at the windows, which were now being pelted by what looked like small rocks. “THAT.”
“Well.” He wiped his face with his sleeve, which accomplished nothing because his sleeve was equally soaked. “Here I am.”
The lights flickered.
“I need to go,” I said, grabbing my jacket. “Poppy’s with the neighbors. I need to get her.”
“In this?” Wade moved to block my path. “Luisa, it’s dangerous out there.”
“It’s my daughter.”
“I know, but-”
“It’s my daughter, Wade.”
His expression shifted. He’d been about to argue, I could see it, that protective instinct kicking in, the one that had apparently been running his life for the past five years.
But he recognized the look on my face. The one that said I’d walk through fire for that little girl, and a storm was barely going to slow me down.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
We stood there, rain hammering against the windows, the wind howling like a living thing. He was so close I could smell the storm on him, ozone and salt water and that underneath-cologne that was just him. His wet shirt clung to his chest, outlining muscles I’d been trying very hard not to notice.
My skin prickled everywhere it wasn’t touching him, and none of it had anything to do with the lightning.
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
I forgot how to breathe.
We were so close. Close enough that I could count the raindrops caught on his eyelashes and feel the heat coming off his body despite his soaked clothes. And if I leaned forward just an inch-
Wade’s mouth curved into a smirk.
“Prepare to get wet, then.”
I felt my face go hot. The double meaning was right there, hovering between us, and from the look in his eyes, he knew exactly what he’d said.
“You’re insufferable,” I managed.
“So I’ve been told.”
He grabbed my hand.
We burst through the door together, and the storm hit us like a wall. Rain drove into my face, so hard it stung. The wind grabbed at my clothes, tried to tear me off my feet. I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me, everything was gray and violent and loud.
I screamed.
Not in fear, in exhilaration. The force of the storm was terrifying, alive. It stripped away everything civilized and left only the raw, primal reality of nature’s power.
Wade laughed.
Actually laughed, the sound ripped away by the wind almost before I could hear it. His hand tightened on mine, pulling me forward, and we ran.
The streets were rivers. Water surged around our ankles, our calves, climbing higher with every step. I slipped on a rock or a root, I couldn’t tell, and Wade’s arm was around my waist before I could fall, hauling me upright, his hands finding purchase on my hips.
“Careful!”
“I’m trying!”
His hands were everywhere. Steadying me. Guiding me. Pressed against my lower back, my hip, sliding down to grip my thigh when I stumbled again. Purely practical. Absolutely necessary.
And so, so hot.
I was soaked to the bone, cold water running down my spine, and I had never felt more alive. More aware of my body. Of his body, pressed against mine as we fought through the storm together.
We reached the Pattersons’ house. I pounded on the door until Mrs. Patterson opened it, her face pale with worry.
“Oh thank goodness! I tried calling but the lines went down-”
“Where’s Poppy?”
“In the living room. She’s fine, just scared of the thunder-”
I pushed past her, found my daughter huddled on the couch with a blanket over her head. She launched herself at me the moment she saw me, her arms wrapping around my neck, her face buried in my shoulder.
“Mama the sky is ANGRY.”
“I know, baby. But I’m here now.”
“It’s SO LOUD.”
“I know.”
Wade appeared in the doorway, still dripping. Poppy’s head turned.
“WADE!”
She abandoned me without hesitation, throwing herself at him instead. He caught her, lifted her, held her against his chest with the kind of natural ease that tangled my heart into knots.
“Hey, dragon,” he said. “Some storm, huh?”
“It’s trying to eat the house.”
“Houses don’t taste very good. Too many splinters.”
She giggled despite herself.
Mrs. Patterson offered us an umbrella, but I waved it off. “It’s just a few steps to my house. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? You could wait here until it passes-”
“We’ll be fine.”
We weren’t fine.
The moment we stepped outside, the storm redoubled its fury. Rain came down in sheets so thick I couldn’t breathe without inhaling water. The wind grabbed at Poppy, tried to tear her from Wade’s arms. He hunched over her, shielding her with his body, and grabbed my hand with his free one.
“Stay close!”
We ran.
Ten steps from my front door, I slipped.
This time there was no recovering. My feet went out from under me completely, and I was falling, falling, the ground rushing up to meet me-
Wade’s arm caught me around the waist.
Lifted me.
And then he was carrying us both, Poppy in one arm, me in the other, striding through the storm like it was nothing, like we weighed nothing, like his only purpose in life was to get us safely inside.
I couldn’t breathe.
Not from the rain.
From him.
The muscles in his arm were rigid against my back.
His hand was splayed across my hip, fingers digging in.
His jaw was clenched with effort, rainwater streaming down his face, and he looked like a still from a movie, the hero carrying the heroine through danger, strong and capable and absolutely fucking devastatingly attractive.
We made it to the door. Inside. He set us both down and slammed the door against the storm.
Silence.
Well, not silence, the wind was still howling outside, the rain still hammering against the windows. But compared to the chaos we’d just escaped, it felt like silence.
We stood in my entryway, all three of us dripping, forming a massive puddle on the hardwood floor.
“Towels,” I said stupidly. “We need towels.”
I found them in the bathroom. Handed one to Wade. Watched him dry Poppy first, rubbing her hair until she giggled, making silly faces at her until the fear left her eyes and she was laughing instead of trembling.
Then he dried himself.
He pulled his shirt away from his chest, wringing water out of the fabric. The motion made his muscles flex under the wet cotton. Made the outline of his tattoos visible through the thin white material.