A fucking rainstorm.

Not a soft drizzle, not the kind of rain that makes you want to curl up with a book—it’s a downpour. Sheets of water crashing down, soaking everything in seconds. And of course, you and Rafe are caught right in the middle of it.

You were supposed to be heading back to the car, but now you’re running, laughing, slipping through the streets like a couple of lovesick idiots.

“Come on!” Rafe shouts, grinning so wide it makes your heart ache. His fingers are wrapped around yours, warm and strong, never letting go.

You stumble after him, breathless, drenched, completely and utterly happy.

Then—he stops.

Right there, in the middle of the empty street, rain pouring, puddles forming, the world a blur around you.

You crash into his chest, gasping, giggling, shivering.

“Rafe, what are you—”

He just looks at you.

Really looks at you. Like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. His hair is dripping, his shirt clings to his skin, and his hands settle on your waist, pulling you in.

And then—

He kisses you.

Right there, in the middle of the storm, like it’s a scene straight out of a movie. Like he couldn’t help himself even if he tried.

His lips are warm, his grip firm, and everything else—the rain, the cold, the world around you—disappears.

You sigh into him, fingers tangling in his wet hair, melting, completely lost in him.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling, panting, hopelessly in love.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, grinning.

Rafe chuckles, squeezing your waist. “You love it.”

And yeah. You do. So fucking much.