Page 81 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“I do have the advantage of several inches on you,” he replies, starting to wipe his wet hands on his jeans, then realizing his pants are utterly drenched.

I laugh at his dismayed expression. “I’m so sorry,” I shake my head. “Your face was just funny.”

He purses his lips in mock offense. “Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” Stooping to the ground, I survey the damage. The floorboards are pretty wet, as is the photo album and the boxes closest to the window.

“I see a couple of box fans over there,” Oliver gestures to the far wall. “I’ll set them up for you. I bet that’ll be enough to dry everything out.”

My mind is melting a little at the way he’s knocking out tasks around the house like some sort of insanely attractive handyman. “Thanks,” I breathe, watching him lift both fans at once and carry them back to me.

After he’s plugged them in and aimed them at the mess, he meets my gaze. “I should probably get home so I can change.”

A clap of thunder that sounds like the apocalypse itself rattles the walls, followed immediately by a blinding flash of lightning. The storm must be close, because even though I rarely paid attention in Earth Science class, I know that order is backwards.

As if to prove that theory, another roll of thunder shakes the house just seconds later.

“You were saying?”

Oliver leans toward the window. The dark shapes of trees bend and flail wildly outside in the storm’s angry gusts. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Hey,” I begin, not wanting to seem forward, but equally terrified he’s going to get electrocuted the minute he steps out on Simon’s porch. “Why don’t you just hang out here until the storm passes?”

His eyes light up, but he says, “I don’t want to get in the way of your time with Laurel.”

“She’s out, actually. Went home to Boston for a couple of days.”

“To deal with the dissertation issue?”

“Exactly.” As attractive as Oliver looks right now, soaking wet, he must be freezing. If he’s going to stay, he’ll need something else to wear. “I have a hoodie and some sweats downstairs, if you want dry clothes.”

He bursts out laughing. “I don’t think your pants will fit me.”

My face flushes. “They were, um. They were Kyle’s.”

Something shifts in his face. “I see.”

“Just didn’t feel like meeting up with him to return them.” I shrug. “Never wanted to see the prick again, in fact. Come on.” I grab his arm and pull him toward the stairs.

Just as we’ve stepped back down into the main hallway, a tremendous crash echoes through Beach Haven, and the lights flicker menacingly.

“Uh oh,” Oliver says.

A moment later, the house is plunged into darkness.

twenty-two

“Ithink there are some flashlights in the kitchen,” I say over my shoulder. I remember seeing at least two above the stove, along with some matches. Living on the coast, I bet Simon’s witnessed many a storm like this. I’m not surprised that he’s stocked Beach Haven for bad weather.

Oliver follows close behind me, one hand on the side of my shoulder. “I don’t want you to bump the wall,” he explains when he sets it there.

We find the flashlights, but the batteries in both are long dead and have oozed acid all over the place. So much for Simon’s impressive doomsday preparation skills. Fortunately, there’s a cinnamon-scented jar candle in the cabinet, too.

I strike a match and the candle flickers to life. “Behold,” I grin, positioning it below my chin. It casts strange shadows across Oliver’s face, just a few inches away. He returns my smile.

“Now, let’s get warm.” I lead the way to my bedroom, acutely aware the whole time how we’re about to strip our clothes off in each other’s presence. I blame nerves for making me flip on the light switch as I enter the room, momentarily forgetting the power’s off.

The candle casts just enough light to see. I use it to dig out two hoodies, my pajama pants, and Kyle’s sweats, which I kept not for the memories but because they fit me well if I cinch the drawstring.