Page 51 of Bloom

He casts a pointed glance at my bare legs, and I swear the look lingers. “You’re wearing less clothes than me.”

“You’re gonna get soaked.”

“I don’t mind a little rain.”

Neither do I, I start to argue but a clap of thunder cuts me off, a flash of lightning accompanying it. In the blink of an eye, the heavens open and the rain starts pounding. I shriek, hastily maneuvering my arms into the sleeves and yanking my hood back up as I retreat further into the treeline.

Chest rumbling humorously, Hunter peers through the sheets of rain towards the parking lot just barely visible in the distance. Looking back at me, he reaches up and tugs on the drawstrings of my,his, hoodie. “Wanna hide here and wait it out? Or make a run for it?”

Neither seems like a particularly good option. I kiss my teeth as I think, following Hunter's line of sight. I guess it isn't that far away. And it's not like the tree cover is doing much to shield off the rain—Hunter’s top is already soaked through. And the longer we stand here, the muddier the trail is getting. Soon, we won’t be able to walk without falling on our asses.

Letting out another groan, I shoot Hunter an unhappy look. “Run, I guess.”

Before I even have the chance to second guess my decision, he slips his hand into mine and pulls me from our relative shelter. Raindrops pelt down unrelentingly as we sprint towards the truck, Hunter’s firm grip the only thing keeping me upright. By the time we make it, I’m soaked to the bone—we both are. Yanking open the passenger door, Hunter all but tosses me inside and slams the door behind me. A second later, the driver’s side opens and he throws himself in, the truck creaking under his weight.

I really try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. He looks ridiculous, bedraggled as hell with his hair plastered to his forehead and water dripping down his face. Fiddling with the heating events, he side-eyes me dryly. “Whatcha grinnin’ at, girl?”

Rolling my lips together, I gesture at…him.

His eyes narrow as they purposefully, slowly drag down the length of me. “Take a look in the mirror before you go passin’ judgment, honey.”

When I flip down the mirror visor, I quickly see his point; predictably, I look even worse. I sigh as I unravel my braid, combing through the wet knots while Hunter twists to rummage around in the backseat. His t-shirt rides up with the movement, offering me an eyeful of tan lower stomach and a trail of dark hair.

I tear my eyes away before I get caught gawking again. A moment later, something soft smacks the side of my face, and I mutter my thanks as I use the offered towel to dry myself off the best I can. Which isn’t saying much, considering the clothes situation, but there’s no point changing into the spare outfit I keep in my backpack, not when I’m sitting in a puddle anyway.

Loosely rebraiding my hair just to give my hands something to do, I stare at the hazy, rain-skewed view out the window. A memory flickers through my mind, and when I hear Hunter twisting his keys in the ignition and the engine roaring to life, I find myself reaching out to stop him. “Can we stay for a second?”

Gaze lingering on where my fingers wrap around his wrist, he shuts off the truck.

I sit back with a sigh, the corners of my mouth lifting as I listen to the steady sound of rain hitting the roof. “My mom loved the rain.”

“Yeah?”

I hum. “It's kind of silly—”

“Doubt it.”

“But she always used to say the rain washed everything away and wiped the slate clean. The day after a good rain is your fresh start.”

There's a pause before Hunter murmurs quietly, “I like that.”

“Me too.” Kicking off my shoes so I can comfortably tuck my feet beneath me, I shift to face Hunter. “We have a sunroom in our house and when it rained, we used to sit out there and just listen. It was so peaceful. Like we were underwater or something.”

If I close my eyes, I can almost convince myself I'm back there.

“That sounds nice.”

Hunter watches me, his expression as soft as his voice. A shiver creeps up my spine, and it has nothing to do with the coldand everything to do with whatever undecipherable emotion is swimming in his eyes. I look away before I can get too lost in the pretty, greenish-brown depths, focusing on the pouring rain instead.

“And your dad?”

It takes a full-body effort to keep my expression from falling. Coughing to clear the sudden lump in my throat, I lift a shoulder in what I hope is a nonchalant shrug. “We're not as close since she died.”

It's not a lie, I reason with the guilt niggling at my mind.It's not the whole truth, but it's not a lie.

If Hunter suspects my slight dishonesty, he makes no indication. He doesn't press. He doesn't say another word. And neither do I. We simply sit there in silence, listening to the steady thrum of the rain against the truck, watching as the water washes everything clean.

Convincing Hunter to drop me off at my place of work instead of ‘home’ is harder than I thought it would be. He doesn’t like me driving in the rain, he says, and his concern almost gets me, almost makes me forget why I can’t gohome, until I mentally slap some sense into myself.

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