“ONE!”
The wind gusts harder.
“TWO!”
Lightning flashes. His face is lit up for a second—jaw clenched, rain running down his cheeks, looking weirdly beautiful for someone in crisis mode.
“THREE!”
We pull together. The rope goes taut. The tent corner drops back down.
“The stake!” I point. “It’s coming loose!”
He’s already moving, grabbing a rock to hammer it back in. I hold the rope steady, rain streaming into my eyes.
“Other side!” he shouts.
We run around the tent, chasing loose stakes and rogue ropes. Working together without talking, like we’ve done this before. Like we’re a team. And drive all the stakes in deeper.
The wind starts to die. The rain softens. The tent… holds.
We stand there, breathing hard and completely drenched. Rain drips from my hair down the back of my neck, and my clothes cling to my body. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat.
“We did it,” I breathe, barely audible over the dying wind.
“We did it.” His voice is rough, deeper than usual.
His white shirt is see-through, his hair plastered to his head. There’s mud on his cheek.
He’s never looked better.
He’s close enough to steal my breath, close enough to unravel every defense I’ve rebuilt brick by brick.
And for a second, I wish he would.
“You have…” I reach up without thinking, my thumb brushing the mud away. His skin is warm despite the rain, rough with stubble.
He goes still—completely, utterly still—like I’m a wild animal he doesn’t want to spook.
We’re standing too close, rain-soaked and high on adrenaline. I can see water droplets caught in his eyelashes and feel the heat radiating off him despite the storm.
I brace my palm against his soaked dress shirt to steady myself and feel his heart beating as if he’s sprinted a marathon. The storm isn’t the only thing crackling; it’s in the half inch of air between our mouths—the taste of lightning, rain, and something terrifyingly inevitable. I should step back. Instead, my thumb traces the edge of his jaw, and the look he gives me—shocked want wrapped in lawyer-level restraint—makes me forget my own name.
“Poppy…” It’s barely a word—more like a prayer, or a warning.
The sound of my name in his rain-roughened voice stirs something inside me that I don’t want to examine too closely.
“We should get back,” I say quickly, finally—finally—stepping away. Cold air rushes into the space between us.
“Right. Yes.” But he doesn’t move for another beat; he just stands there, looking at me as if he’s trying to memorize this moment.
When we head back inside, Ivy’s bouncing on her toes.
“That was AMAZING! You two were like… tent superheroes!”
“We were just—”
“Saving the day! Together! Like a team!”
