Best I Ever Had

After setting the alarm, I grab an umbrella from the holder. “This one will fit both of us underneath.”

We step outside, squeezing into the opening under the awning as I turn to lock the shop. “How far do you live from here?”

“Two blocks.” It’s not just pouring rain. The water flows like a river down the street. One step down and my suede ankle boots are ruined forever. I can’t afford another pair. These were a splurge, and they were majorly discounted last summer.

“Quickest route?” Cooper asks. I lean down, deciding I’m willing to sacrifice my tights with the new run in them over my boots, and start slipping them off. “What are you doing?”

When I have the other off, I reply, “I don’t want to ruin my boots.”

“We can’t even see the sidewalk. There could be glass and other debris. No way. Put your shoes on.”

“I love these boots, and I can’t afford to buy another pair.” I start to tuck them into my bag, but he stops me.

“You’re not going barefoot. Not even for two blocks.” A heated beat passes between us, but the tension rolls off his shoulders, and he adds, “I’ll buy you a new pair, any pair of shoes you want, but you need to wear those boots.”

There’s not a threat woven into his tone, but concern had tugged his eyebrows together and dampened the lights in his eyes. I know he’s right, but it’ll be painful to slip my boots back on, purposely setting out to destroy them. “They’ll never be the same.”

“Better them than you.”

We glare at each other for a few seconds before the standoff ends. “Fine.” Using his arm to hold me upright, I slip the boots back on. He may have layers on, but the muscle under it all is rock hard. When my boots are back on, I give him a little attitude. “Happy?”

His eyes dart to my hand that’s still squeezing his bicep. “Are you?”

I lower my hand and step onto the flooding sidewalk. “No, but that doesn’t matter now. Come on.”

Cooper has no problem stepping into the water though his shoes look like leather. Maybe that kind of stuff doesn’t matter to him. Maybe he has enough money not to have to worry about such luxuries. He opens his palm. “Hold on to me.”

The water rushes against the back of my ankles, pushing me forward. One wrong step and I might be flowing along with it. “This is worse than I thought.” I take his hand, and that chemistry he mentioned earlier kicks up my heartbeat along with my adrenaline. We start forward again, walking at a clip that keeps us in control but is also safe.

Cutting down an alley helps alleviate the flooding waters. Deep puddles have formed, but there’s no river running through it. We take a corner, continuing to hold hands as we cross another street that would typically be busy this time of night. The lights of my building ahead draw us in like bees to honey.

“Your block seems to be the only one spared tonight,” he observes.

We’re soaked up to our knees from splashing through the rainwater, but we’ve managed to stay dry up top under the umbrella. “Yeah, looks like the Mexican restaurant is still operating. Hungry?”

“Let’s get inside, and we can place an order. I owe you for letting me come over anyway.”

The three steps leading to the door of my building have managed to stay above the fray of the bad weather. We launch onto the steps and climb up. He tugs the door but whips to face me. “No code or security to get inside?”

“It’s been broken for at least two years.” I pop the umbrella open and closed a few times to shake the excess rain off. “The landlord doesn’t care.”

“I do.”

“Well, then you can fix it because he’s not going to.” I dump the umbrella in the corner of the small entry.

A growl rumbles through his chest, and only the sound of the metal door clicking closed overwhelms it. “Tell me you’re not on the first floor.”

I laugh and start up the stairs. “I’m not on the first floor.”

“Good.”

Our soggy socks and shoes squish underfoot as we trudge upstairs. When we reach the second floor, and I veer down the short hall, he says, “Really? You’re practically the first door someone will find if they enter the building.”

I shrug. “What do you want me to say, Cooper?” Exasperated, I add, “I can’t help if you don’t approve.”

Cooper starts working on removing his shoes in the hall. “It’s not that I don’t approve. My approval doesn’t actually matter. It’s a safety issue.”

I unlock my door and open it, leaning in to set my bag just inside but stay in the hallway. Bending my leg, I reach down and start tugging off my soaked boots. The water did the suede no favors. I think it shrank around my ankle.