Page 87 of Don't Be in Love

“How do I look?” he smirked, a laugh on the edge of his lips as rain droplets turned strands of his hair into sopping curls.

“Exceptionally wet. That look is pretty in right now,” I replied, stepping under the umbrella and letting the door shut behind me.

“Is it?”

“Slicked back hair, wet makeup—”

He tilted the umbrella away from my head, letting a line of rain in.

I shrieked, jumping forward into his chest, laughing.

“Let’s be nice to the bloke with the umbrella.”

Our walk back home was too short. While twenty-five minutes of dodging puddles and being hit by windy waves of cold rain wasn’t ideal, it ended our conversation too quickly.

The tree outside my balcony dripped dew onto the umbrella.

“Thank you for coming. And bringing these.” I gestured to the bouquet.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Pretty sure you invited yourself,” I reminded him.

“Semantics.” He shrugged, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight,” he said softly. A thin stream of water ran down the edge of his face. I stopped it with my thumb, surprising us both.

A clouded look spread across his face as he searched mine. The silence that tended to spread between us was always uncomfortable. But this time, it gave me a moment to breathe him in. As if I was in a museum trying to pull the meaning of a painting from its use of light.

I counted how far I’d have to lean forward on my heels to reach his lips. Then I tried to calculate how manywhat was I doingswould pass before they were replaced with the complete and utter chaos ofdesire.

I cleared my throat and abruptly backed away. “Goodnight,” I repeated.

“Goodnight.” He nodded, backing up.

I left the bubble of our umbrella and stepped under the awning above my apartment entrance, pulling the door open.

The heating unit in the small lobby hit me and the door shut. I took three steps upstairs before the urge to get one more glance at him turned me around.

I found him in the rain still, under the tree.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

I ran back down the stairs and opened the front door.

“What are you doing?” I shouted over the rain.

“I’m waiting for you!” he yelled back, the rain shadowing his words.

“Waiting for me to what?”

“For you to get into your flat!”

“But your shoes—”

“Adelaide, I’m already soaked so just get inside!”