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The inky darkness eats at me. I gasp and lean into Oliver, struggling to focus on how sturdy and warm his body is against mine. Every one of his measured breaths helps me to do the same. Yet still, my burgeoning fear has a mind of its own.
“Wren.” The calming sound of my name on his lips further settles the caged animal inside me.
Only for a blink.
I can’t get past our predicament.
We’re stuck in a box with no light…and no exit.
The dark.
We could be here for the entire night in absolute blackness. I can’t see Oliver’s face even though he’s only inches from me.
Lightning flashes and Coach’s office beams for the briefest of seconds, both of us illuminated. Strangely, it’s as if time stops.
Oliver stares down at me, features twisted in concern, such care and compassion etched in his ruggedly handsome face, his lips red and still glistening from our kiss.
Once more, darkness steals the moment. An alarmed whimper pops from my mouth.
“Wren.” His fingers trail a soft path along my cheek, the other hand firmly holding me close. “Are you still afraid of the dark?”
I’m a mixture of both stunned that he remembered and comforted by the attentive tone in his voice. There’s no teasing or admonishment in the fact that I’m a grown woman and the dark still makes me want to cry.
“You remember?” The question is a croaky whisper as if the loss of electricity also caused my voice to fade.
“Of course, I do. The best seven minutes of my life.”
There’s a hint of a smile to his tone, and unpredictably, I’m grateful for the conversation. His teasing.
Playfully, I slap at his hard chest. Once more, his unwavering firm body helps to ease my rattling nerves.
“Shut up. It was seventh grade.” Or at least it was for me. By then, Oliver was a freshman at Winslow Grove High. “I’m sure you’ve had more memorable experiences since then.”
His long fingers gently wrap around my wrist and hold my hand to his chest. The beating of his heart, constant and precise under my palm, does wonders to soothe me.
“No, seriously, Wren, I remember every single second.”
My stomach churns, not quite trusting his words, and almost immediately, I’m taken back to that night. It was a birthday party for his best friend, Kellen, and we were at the age when some of us were dating, crushes ran rampant, and almost every girl I knew wanted Oliver Winslow.
He was a great catch. No, he wasthe catch.
Athletic, gorgeous, funny, smart, liked by all, and above all else, Oliver was kind to everyone. So when Kellen declared we were playing seven minutes in heaven, my heart sank, convinced Dot—she’d wanted him for as long as I had—or any other girl but me would get him.
Weirdly bolstered by the dark, I say, “You know, it’s strange, but I both wanted and didn’t want to be paired with you.”
“What?” There’s so much wariness in his one word, he sounds even a little hurt, and I so wish I could see his face clearly, get a better read on what he might be feeling.
Murky moonlight slinks in through the tiny windows high above but only casts shades and angles, nothing sure or concrete.
“I can’t explain it any better than I was nervous. I only liked you, and one thing was for sure, I didn’t want to be paired with anyone else.”
“Me neither.”
“Really?” It seems silly that I care how he felt back then after all these years and yet, I do.
His head nods, a dark shadow bobbing up and down. Ironically, my greatest fear—the dark—somehow feeds me the courage to do this, to share my feelings even if I’m questioning whether I can trust his.
“I was flying high after that party.” My bubbly jubilance from back then is a welcomed memory. “You had an away game, and I couldn’t wait for you to get back.”
