"What's the other place?"he asked.
"That's the vicarage."
"Did it burn?"
"No, it's still very much intact."Claire strained her eyes in the direction of the small house."Hamish once dared us to spend the night out here when we were girls.We must have been about ten.We spent an entire day cleaning the place up.He brought down beds from the main house.Food.Candles.The works.It wasn't dark for ten minutes before we got scared and high-tailed it out."
"You have a lot of fond memories of this place, don't you?"Jay asked.
A wistful sigh escaped her."This place was like a magic kingdom to me.After my mother died, I spent part of every summer here until my college days.Molly too.Our own private summer camp."
"The ideal escape?"
"It wasn't always ideal, but it was certainly an escape."She kicked a rock with the toe of her boot."I could run and hide and pretend my life was perfect."
He moved behind her and rested his hands comfortingly on her shoulders."You don't have to run and hide anymore."
His tender words stole her breath.The quiet understanding in his voice made him seem stronger and more masculine than any display of bravado ever could.
"There's something else I'd like to show you—my secret hideaway," she said.
They continued along the property line, the terrain much more rugged.Hand in hand, they climbed a small rocky incline.At the top, she pointed to another building in the distance.It sat high on a hill about one hundred yards away, and she smiled instantly upon sight of it.
"The secret hideaway?"he asked, slightly out of breath.
"That's it.I haven't been up here in years.It looks so much smaller than I remember."
"Well, let's see just how small it is," Jay suggested, taking her hand once more.
They headed toward Claire’s childhood sanctuary just as the first drops of rain began to threaten their outing.Ignoring the weather, they kept walking hand in hand at an easy pace.Claire shared more silly stories about the adventures she and Molly had once dreamed up, and she and Jay laughed together.But the rain intensified with every step.They quickened their pace as the conversation faded.Claire considered turning back, but the main house sat at least a mile away, and the rain only came down harder.Soon, the storm pelted them without mercy.A second later, they both broke into a sprint toward the waiting shelter perched atop the quiet hill.
She followed him across a mass of undergrowth to the cracked concrete stairs leading to Gosshawk Pointe—a small, Greek-styled structure that served as a hidden observatory overlooking the entire estate.By the time they made it inside, they were drenched from head to toe.Water ran across her eyelids and down her cheeks.She blinked and ran her fingers through her hair.He caught her hand and gently pulled it away.
"Wait.Don't.Don't touch it."He tucked a wet strand behind her ear."You look beautiful."
"Jay, there’s something I—" she started.
He brushed a raindrop from her cheek before letting his thumb linger at her lips.As he gently traced them, the distance between their bodies disappeared.Suddenly, she was back on that green velvet sofa.She leaned into him, feeling the softness of his lips for the first time in far too long.When his hands slipped through the rain-soaked strands of her hair, a quiet moan escaped her, and she pulled him as close as she could.
After a minute, she reluctantly pulled away so she could see his eyes.He smiled sweetly, and she reached up to brush tiny droplets of rain from his beard.Then she returned his smile and locked her arms tightly around his neck.Her fingers combed his thick hair, much darker in its damp state.
"May I ask you a question?"she asked.
"Of course."
"You've had every opportunity to kiss me like that.Why did you wait until now?"
"I was waiting on Mother Nature."He touched her cheek again.“A kiss in the rain is required… for all us die-hard romantics."
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
CLAIRE
“Thy fate is the common fate of all.Into each life some rain must fall."Jay reached a hand out from under the safety of their hideaway, letting the drops fall onto his open palm.
"James Whitcomb Riley?"Claire guessed.
"No.Actually, another thrice-named poet.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow."He watched the rain, filling his hand like a cup.
