He turns my head so that he can kiss me, and the hand on my leg starts to go up again. We kiss, no longer giving a shit about the movie or anything else. Kissing Jacob is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. We fit together so perfectly.
We kiss until a drop of water splashes against my forehead and I break away, turning my eyes to the sky.
He glances up too, asking, “Is that rain?”
As though God himself answers the question, the sky opens up, and it’s not rain that hits us, it’s a monsoon.
“Shit!” Jacob yells and grabs the blanket that was in the back, tossing it over me.
A convertible at a drive-in is pretty cool, unless you’re stuck in a storm.
He jumps over into the front as water fills the car, drenching everything. I try to push the water off the seats, all to no avail. I can’t keep up with the torrential rain. He tries to start the car to get the top up, but he’s struggling with the keys.
“Is there another way to get the top up?” I ask.
He groans, and as soon as he gets the car started, he slams a button on the dash. The top starts to rise, slower than I swear it went down.
He shakes his head. “Come on!”
I start to laugh as the rain seems to come down harder. I’m soaked all the way through. There’s not a part of me that’s dry. The blanket was no help, and there’s water everywhere inside.
Finally, the top goes up and he locks it on both sides. Jacob turns to me, drenched as well, and then bursts out laughing.
The two of us are in hysterics as we look around the completely saturated car and at each other.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“It’s just rain.”
“This wasn’t what I had in mind for our first date. I know that it didn’t go as planned, but maybe we can make the best of it,” he suggests.
“How?”
He turns the radio on in the car and then hops out, coming around to my side to open my door before offering me a hand.
“Will you dance with me?”
I look up at him, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “It’s pouring.”
He smiles so wide it knocks the wind out of me. “Are you afraid of getting wet? Come on, Brenna, every woman should get to dance in the rain at least once in her life.”
I put my hand in his and step out into the downpour. He tugs me to his chest and while there’s music playing in the background and rain drumming on every surface, I don’t hear anything but the sound of his heart. In the middle of a crazy storm, Jacob dances with me, and I feel the brick wall I had erected start to crumble.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brenna
This week has been a shit show. One thing after another has gone wrong. The girl that Ellie brought to my attention had been in tears. She said she wrote it as fiction, and it wasn’t anything like that. Every red flag was being thrown and danger light was flashing. There was something too practiced about her answers, as though they were part of a routine that had been engrained in her.
We filed the reports, but without her cooperation, I don’t know that she’ll get the help she needs.
Then Cybil found out that Reggie was deploying again.
My son is driving me absolutely insane because he’s rehearsing his lines all day long. I swear, by the time this play is over, I’ll be able to be his understudy.
The worst, though, is that I haven’t really seen Jacob since that magical night in the rain. We’ve barely talked at rehearsals. He’s so busy trying to corral these kids and making the play a success, and all I do is make sure no one is posting things on social media. We have a phone bucket, and we use it. Jacob explained to the kids that if this got out, and he was outed, the play wouldn’t go on. All of them are passionate and excited to work with him, so they agreed to keep it offline.
Well, we all know it’s coming, but hopefully, it’ll be after the play at least.
My phone pings, and I smile when I see the name.
Speak of the devil.
Jacob: Is it too late to cancel the play?
Me: I would say yes.
Jacob: These kids are nuts. Half of them have already quit because they realized I was really not going to be fun.
Me: Well, you’re not supposed to be fun. You’re the director.
Jacob: I blame you for this.
Me: Me? You’re the one who volunteered!
His response comes immediately.
Jacob: You’re the one who gave birth to Sebastian.
Me: Yes, and that means you had to direct a small-town middle/high school play?
Jacob: It means that you owe me dinner.
That makes zero sense, but then this seems to be Jacob’s big issue—food.
Me: None of your sisters-in-law will feed you?
Jacob: Nope. So, you’re next on the list.
Me: I’d hate to wonder who is after me.
Jacob: Let’s not ever have to go there.
I chew on my thumbnail, not sure of what to do. I could invite him here. Let him spend time with Sebastian, and make sure he eats. Not that it’s my problem, but we’re friends. Friends who happen to have slept with each other. Still, Jacob has never done anything I didn’t want.
And I was just upset because I haven’t seen him. This would sort of kill three birds with one stone. Sebastian would be happy. I would be happy. And Jacob would eat something. Okay, four, if I want to be ambitious and think that maybe Jacob wants to see me too, but I won’t officially put that on the list. Then maybe we can also make a plan for this weekend since Sebastian is sleeping at Austin’s house and Melanie is going to stay at a friend’s house.
Ugh. I really need to give myself therapy.
The best advice I give is to trust yourself. I’m a smart woman. I know what I want to do—what my gut is telling me to do, and that’s to do what makes me happy.
Me: Then come over and let’s make sure we don’t see you go down to the next rung.
Jacob: I’m on my way.
I look around, my house coming together bit by bit, but the mess is ever-growing. I call for the kids. Melanie and Sebastian are at the bottom of the stairs a few seconds later.
“Jacob is coming for dinner. Not as your director, but as our friend,” I say, cutting off any questions from Sebastian. “We need to clean up before he gets here in, like, ten minutes, so, it’s all hands on deck . . . go!”
The three of us scatter, picking up anything lying around and shoving it in places it doesn’t belong but won’t be seen. This is what we would do before my mother would come to visit before she died. She liked to just stop by because it wasn’t as if she lived three hours away and stopping by wasn’t really stopping by, but that was her thing.
Growing up, my house was a museum. Everything had a place and that place was never altered. I’ve never prescribed to that thinking. Our home was always clean, but not immaculate. We lived in our homes. Messes are part of living because life isn’t meant to be tidy.