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.”
She laughs again, wiping the water from her face. The way her eyes crinkle when she smiles has always done something to me, a damn spark in a tinderbox, and I’d forgotten how good it feels to see her laugh, even soaked and shivering beside me.
Her wet clothes cling to her curves, every inch of her more tempting than ever. I look away before she catches me staring, but the image stays burned into my mind as I settle in the driver’s seat, totally saturated, and check the weather forecast on my phone.
The radar is a mess of angry reds and yellows. “It’s only going to get heavier. We need to wait it out; roads will be too dangerous to travel back right now and visibility too low.”
“Great, just great.” She sighs and brushes her wet hair away from her face and she smiles at me. “At least we tried.”
Something sweet lodges in my chest. “Look.” I point toward a structure not far off. “There’s a ranger’s cabin. We can wait there. It’ll be more comfortable than sitting in the truck. This storm is going to last at least a few more hours.”
“Okay,” she agrees, perhaps eager to escape the cramped confines that only seem to amplify whatever this is between us.
The engine starts and we creep slowly forward while rain assaults the windshield in a relentless barrage. I squint through the blur, the truck’s wipers frantic against the deluge, and soon we’re pulling up just outside the hut. I kill the engine before reaching back and grabbing my everyday carry bag, or EDC, from the backseat.
“Ready?” I glance at Kelly, her dark eyes wide, hair plastered against her pale skin.
“Let’s do it.”
We open our doors at the same time and slam them shut, before bolting for the cabin, the ground beneath us already awash with water. The rain is ice-cold and my boots squelch in the mud. But I feel alive.
We reach the old ranger’s cabin—with weathered wood siding and pine needles that carpet its sloping roof—and I head straight for the front door, which is not surprisingly unlocked. There are a handful of these kinds of cabins dotted around the Pines, left open as shelter for hikers or park rangers caught in bad weather.
“Get in,” I shout over the roar of the rain, shouldering open the door, the hinges protesting with a groan.
There’s something thrilling about being out here with her. The world has shrunk down to this cabin, the two of us, and the rain pounding against the roof. I can’t remember the last time I did something so reckless, but all I feel is excitement. I’m a kid again, and the world is full of possibilities.