Chapter 17 #2
“Can I get you some coffee or something?” Patrick’s question came softly, barely audible over the storm, but it brought a small smile to my face. This simple act, so normal yet so significant, was more telling than any grand gesture he could have made.
“I’d like that,” I replied, the words carrying the same tentative hope I felt in my chest. There wasn’t going to be any fast fix, but maybe this, standing together under an overhang, soaked to the skin and finally speaking without fear, was enough of a start for now.
The rain could keep coming, but at least we weren’t facing it alone anymore.
Patrick smiled back, his eyes lighter than they had been in weeks, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I could almost picture what it would be like when the clouds finally cleared and the sun broke through again.
The rain continued its rhythmic drumbeat against the hangar’s metal roof, but somehow it no longer felt like a barrier between us.
Instead, it was like we were in our own private world, suspended between storm and calm, with nothing to do but wait for the sky to open up.
The weight on my chest seemed to shift just enough to allow a deeper breath, and I found myself leaning into that possibility, however fragile it might still be, of finding our way back to something that felt like home again, but stronger this time, rebuilt from the wreckage we had somehow survived together.
The coffee cart outside was abandoned due to the rain, the canopy pulled down over its sides as if retreating from the relentless weather.
I chuckled softly, shaking my head as Patrick followed my gaze.
“Looks like we’ll have to go without,” he said, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes, even if he tried to play it off as nothing.
“That’s fine. There’s a taco truck down the block. If they’re still running in this rain, that is.” I glanced over at Patrick, expecting him to hesitate or suggest going somewhere warmer, but his expression didn’t falter.
“Lead the way,” he said, his tone easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world to brave the weather just for some tacos.
I turned and walked ahead, my feet splashing through shallow puddles that had accumulated along the cracked sidewalks of the warehouse district.
Patrick followed, the sound of his heavier steps keeping a steady pace behind me, but there was no rush between us.
There was a strange sort of peace in being out in the storm together.
I couldn’t remember the last time we had done something so normal, so simple.
And maybe that was the point. We had gotten so wrapped up in the complexity of our lives that the little moments, the small, everyday things had faded into the background.
Maybe it was the rain, or maybe it was just the stillness of the empty streets, but for once, it felt like we had all the time in the world.
When we reached the taco truck, the window was open, and the smell of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air, warm and inviting in the middle of the storm.
I glanced back at Patrick, half expecting him to suggest something more refined, but to my surprise, he stepped up to the counter with the same easy confidence I remembered from when we first met.
“Two al pastor tacos, no onions,” he said, as though he’d known all along what I liked. It was a simple thing, but it meant more than I wanted to admit. “And two more with everything for me.”
The owner nodded and quickly got to work while we stepped aside, our shoulders brushing together as we huddled under the small awning above the order window.
The rain drummed on the metal surface above, making conversation hard without leaning closer, which we both did without thinking.
My heart rate quickened slightly at his nearness, his scent of soap and faint cologne mingling with the aroma of grilled meat and the smell of wet pavement.
I could feel him watching me, but I didn’t meet his eyes.
I needed to focus on the truck, the rain, anything but how easy it felt to stand next to him again.
When the tacos arrived, wrapped in foil, we took them back out into the rain, unable to resist eating outside despite the storm.
There was no shelter nearby that would make this moment any less magical.
It was a bit ridiculous, standing in the middle of a Seattle downpour eating street food, and yet it was also oddly liberating.
Patrick laughed as we unwrapped the hot foil, the steam from the food mingling with our breath in the cold air.
“This might be the wettest date I’ve ever had,” he said with a grin, his eyes sparkling in a way I hadn’t seen in ages.
“It’s not a date,” I shot back, though the words felt weak even to me, but there was a teasing tone in my voice that surprised us both.
I took a bite of my taco, savoring the spicy flavor that felt like a rebellion against the dreariness around us.
It had been far too long since I let myself enjoy something without a cloud of guilt hanging over me.
“Sure it’s not,” he replied, his grin widening as he took a bite of his own taco, the casual banter between us feeling more comfortable than it should, as if we had never stopped.