Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
He stands there for a moment, unmoving, possibly shocked, before he finally wraps his wet arms around me. “Hey, you’re okay.”
“I really hate thunderstorms,” I mumble into his rain slicker.
He runs a soothing hand down my back. “Totally understandable when it’s raining almost as hard inside as it is outside.”
I take several deep, steadying breaths, trying to regain a little composure so I don’t come across as a complete head case, but I’ve been crying, and my face always gets blotchy and my eyes get puffy. At least the lighting is bad.
Eventually I loosen my hold, aware I can’t koala bear him forever. “I’m okay. I’m fine. Thanks so much for coming.”
“I would’ve been here sooner if I’d known it was this bad.” He cringes as drops of water land on his head from the ceiling above. “Let’s pack you a bag and get you out of here.”
I nod. “I’d like that.”
With the help of his flashlight I stuff clothes into my suitcase. I throw in my laptop and any other electronics, worried that they’ll get wet and ruined with how much rain is coming through the roof.
I toss my toiletries in as well and throw on my coat. “I think I’m ready.” I shove my hands in my pockets so he can’t see how much I’m shaking.
RJ stuffs my suitcase into a big black garbage bag before we head out. The rain is so heavy I can barely see the truck, still running, sitting less than twenty feet from the back door. “Let’s go,” he shouts, voice drowned out by the driving downpour.
I make a break for it as another boom of thunder shakes the ground. My feet slide out from under me, but RJ’s strong arm wraps around my waist, dragging me back up.
“Got you.” RJ half carries me the rest of the way to the truck, only letting me go when he’s sure I have my footing. I wrench the door open, scrambling into the passenger seat with help from RJ. Once I’m safe inside, he tosses my suitcase into the back seat and rushes around the hood.
It’s warm and dry inside, apart from where I’m dripping all over the seat and the floor. In the short distance between the cabin and the truck, my coat got soaked through to my shirt. RJ blasts the heat, and I buckle myself in.
The windshield wipers are on full speed, but the rain is coming down faster and harder than they can do their job. It takes twice as long to get back to his place, because branches have fallen on the road and he has to swerve around some of the larger ones.
Once we reach Sweet View Home, he presses an automatic garage-door opener and pulls in. Shifting into park, he cuts the engine. “Come on, let’s get you inside and dried off.”
Despite the blasting heat, my teeth are still chattering—I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or the anxiety. “That w-would be n-nice.”
RJ is out of the truck and around the passenger side before I even have my seat belt unfastened. Although I can’t really feel my fingers, so hitting the release button is more difficult than usual. I manage to free myself as RJ opens the door. He wraps his wide palms around my waist and lifts me out of the truck. I brace my hands on his shoulders, embarrassed and strangely turned on by how easy it is for him to pick me up like I weigh no more than a toddler.
He sets me down, and I huddle into myself, still shivering, as I wait for him to grab my stuff from the back seat. I follow him inside, not knowing what to say. My shoes make a squishy sound as I step onto a mat in what’s clearly the mudroom. This space alone is probably bigger than my entire cabin.
I drop to one knee and focus on the task of untying my shoes. The laces are soaked, and they pull tighter instead of looser when I tug the loops. I’m frustrated, embarrassed, and still trying to get a handle on how anxious I am.
“Hey.” RJ drops down into a crouch in front of me. He’s still wearing rain boots, which are far more practical than my running shoes.
“I keep making the knots tighter.” I avoid making eye contact by continuing the futile task of untying my shoes.
His warm hand covers mine. “You’re freezing. Let me help, Lainey.”
I stop fighting with the knots and let him take over. He leaves the laces and pulls my shoes off. My socks are soaked, along with every other part of me, and they stick to the shoes, coming off with a wet suction sound. I’m sure the bottoms of my feet are wrinkly, and the rest of me looks like a splotchy drowned rat.