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Why, in the year 2019, did society even bother with meteorologists at all, Chioma didn’t know. They were overpaid and never offered any accurate data. Just a gathering of hypothesized maybes and “educated” guesses that left people buying more, or less, groceries than they actually needed. Chioma had checked Dark Sky as she walked towards her closet to get dressed that morning as she had every other. The weather app telling her to expect a maximum of 85 degrees, partly cloudy skies, and a “light scattering” of showers around seven pm that only had an eighteen percent chance of hitting her neck of the woods. So, she had dressed accordingly, happy to finally wear the pair of linen pants she’d purchased some time the month before.
And came home looking like a drowned cat.
The sky had darkened and cracked open like a messy egg just as she was leaving work. Catching her as soon as she’d stepped out of the building and winding her already slow and tedious commute down to a snail’s race as fat, thick droplets pelted the expressway in sheets. And everyone’s knowledge of how to operate a moving vehicle seemed to disappear at the same time.
“‘Light showers’ my ass. They should pay me to stand in front of a camera and lie to the entire town,” Chioma glowered as she made her way to her ensuite. The articles of clothing that were acting as a second skin hit her marble tiled floors with a wet thwack as shivered her way out of them.
One long, nearly scalding shower later she felt more like herself and less like a water nymph in training. Her still-wet passion twists were piled atop her head in a messy bun, dripping onto her threadbare Metallica t-shirt and spraying water whenever she turned too quickly. Much to the annoyance of the Egyptian Mau perched on her shoulder like a statue.
“No one told you to sit there, Binx,” Chioma snickered at his abrupt hiss before he finally jumped onto her granite countertop, marching away from her to lick at his wet, silver fur.
The main level of her home was starting to smell more like a bakery as her coffee pot gurgled loudly and spat the Dunkin Donuts liquid into the carafe beneath it. Chocolate glazed donut was her favorite flavor and it was just the pick-me-up that Chioma needed after the punishment mother nature had unjustly decided she deserved. A nameless and off-key tune pushed passed her glossy lips in a muted hum as she filled the two Disney mugs she’d set out. Adding a generous pour of almond milk creamer to Ariel and a splash of heavy cream to Mufasa, deciding to forgo any other sweetener completely in order to avoid arguments.
Binx weaved figure eights between her ankles as she slowly walked over to her front door, meowing disdainfully at not getting anything more than a few head pats since she’d gotten home. His human wasn’t giving him the treatment he felt he was owed and he was making his argument mighty clear.
“You couldn’t handle me flickin’ you with my hair. Ain’t no way you coming outside,” she reminded him as she hip-checked the door open wider, the cool breeze welcoming and earthy. “Be back in a few with scritches, promise.”
Outside, the rain had since died down from it’s torrential downpour to a soft and quiet pitter-patter against the darkening streets of her neighborhood. Tranquil and alluring in its cadence. Chioma sighed dreamily, content as she sat down on the doorsill, putting the Mufasa mug between her parted knees and closed her eyes. Mist kissed the apples of her cheeks and the exposed skin of her forehead as it bounced off of the sides of her house, refreshing her skin and wrapping her in a calm embrace.
If she were being honest, she looked forward to nights like this. When the world seemed to slow to a near standstill and the water seemed to wash away the cares of everyone around. Her shoulders went slack as she raised her chin to the sky, deciding to put the busy and trying day she’d had behind her. For all the complaining she’d done about weather people, false forecasts, and ruined clothes she’d needed this. Had prayed to the universe silently for a quiet night. And it had answered in a way that it had known she would appreciate; even given the events it took to get her there. Now, there was only one more thing that could make this night perfect.
Amber eyes slipped opened slowly just in time to see the porch light on the brick and stucco house directly across from her’s popping to life. The dark brown door slinging open to reveal a six-foot-three frame sheathed in grey and Chioma’s smile was instantaneous.
Talk about ask and you shall receive.
Anyone who still didn’t believe in manifestation was doing themselves a supreme disservice.
Good looks, Universe.
The figure made its way over to the edge of the porch, peering out into the rain and towards her dark house. Which was…odd. Until it hit her and she nearly facepalmed. She’d forgotten to turn on her porch light in her haste to make it outside, signifying her desire for company. It was one of the most important parts of this unspoken ritual that they’d somehow fallen into.
“Shit,” she muttered and raised the Mufasa mug into the air instead. The beams from the low light of her kitchen blessedly made its way to her, gleaming off the edge of the porcelain in her hand like a beacon in a storm. Which made sense given their relationship.
I’m here, it proclaimed for her.
The message seemed to be received because he jogged off his porch and across the street, his muscles bouncing and flexing with his smooth, militant gait visible even from she was sitting. And making her bite down on her lip in desire.
Lavender painted nails reached up to fuss with her glasses and she cleared her throat as he grew closer; nervousness kicking around her in the abdomen as it did each time she saw him.
Would she ever get used to this?
It had been nearly eight full months since she’d moved to this small town in Forgottensville. Thirty-one damn weeks of seeing this Grecian statue of a man on his morning jogs, him helping her with groceries, quick waves from each other’s properties, and many night-time conversations on the porch she was anxiously waiting for him to reach. Yet her heart still went ape shit every time she laid eyes on him.
As he took the five steps of her porch in one leaping hop, shaking the water out of the neat, short dreads at the top of his head, Chioma knew the answer to her unasked question.
No. You don’t ever get used to a man like Erik Stevens.
The dip returned to his walk as he came over to fold his big frame down to sit on the doorsill next to her smaller one. Notes of bergamot, orange blossom, musk, virility wrapped around her brain, kicking her latent sex drive up a few notches. She knew the name of his cologne, had asked him one night over a pair of sweating Coronas. Gucci Guilty. Of course, the nigga wore designer. She had shamefully sniffed a tester when the opportunity presented itself. It smelled wonderful but was missing a certain aspect that she knew couldn’t be bottled.
The familiar twinkle in his dark eyes that Chioma had begun to silently hope was just for her was there as he regarded her. His whiskey eyes tracking over the way her leggings hugged her thighs and legs and she fought not to fidget where she sat. Her muscles spasmed under the pressure and Erik sniffed a soft laugh before he met her eyes once again.
“Wassup, Chi-Chi?”
Her brain to mouth functions faltered for a second. Motor functions needing a small reboot to get her going again.
“You’re wet,” she pointed out quietly; her eyes tracking the glistening skin of his throat that dipped down into the damp collar of his Nike tech t-shirt.
Gold that only heightened his appeal flashed behind his lips as he barked a quick laugh, his arm sweeping out in front of him.
“No shit.” Erik shook his head and brought the still steaming mug to his mouth, rolling his eyes once at the childish cartoon she insisted on using. Thick lips trapped her attention as they wrapped around the mug, taking in a loud slurp before pulling down into a grimace.
“Ugh,” he complained like he did whenever he took his first sip of anything she made him. For such ”tough nigga” he sure did have a flair for the dramatic. “How do drink this sweet shit?”
Chioma only rolled her eyes at him, knowing that the cup would be dutifully empty in the next few minutes.
“I didn’t even add and sugar this time.”
“Well, thank Bast for small miracles.”
She cut her eyes over to him playfully as she licked the perfectly made drink from her mouth. He was so extra.
“You really need to join a drama club. You’d be an asset to whatever production you blessed.”
“As long as you recognize it’s a blessing, I’ll take that as a compliment,” the sassy bastard replied, nudging her with his elbow and making her groan.
“Please don’t.”
“Too late, ma. Plus, we both know you like my assets.”
That was….okay that was true.
“Asshole.”
The baritone of Erik’s laugh vibrated through her from where their sides touched and Chioma was hard-pressed not to join in on his infection. It would only give him more of a reason to keep up his comedy skit. Instead, she looked back at their surroundings and continued to sip slowly. The warm liquid chasing away the slight chill that was the perpetual plus one of a rainy night. She could sit out here for hours and be completely content. Had done so in the past in fact. Hours of her life gone just staring out as the world cried gentle tears.
“Why you always doin’ this?”
Her eyes swung over to find her companion staring at her. In the music of the rain, her mind had gone blessedly still and she’d forgotten where she was and who she was with. Erik’s gaze was calculating but still warm, another norm whenever they got together. The questions were never asked judgmentally but quizzically. Searchingly. Chioma knew he was trying to pluck another piece of the puzzle that made up her personality from the pile she was still protecting valiantly. Why she still had her guard up after all this time, she wasn’t sure.
“Hmm?” she tried anyway even though she knew he wasn’t going to drop it.
He kissed his teeth loudly.
No cigar.
“You heard me, girl. Every time it rains your ass always sitting out here looking like you gone find the answers to life in the puddles in the streets.”
She giggled lightly at that before sighing and shaking her head.
“I don’t know,” she hedged.
“What you mean you don’t know? You just sit out here for shits and giggles? This get ya rocks off? You not into that nature, tree-hugging bullshit, ain’t you?” he accused, poking her cheek.
“You out here with me why don’t you ask yourself that question.”
“We ain’t talking about me, ma. I’m sure our motives are entirely different anyway.”
She blinked at him and squinted, head cocked to the side.
“What does that mean?”
Erik smirked at the sudden feistiness, “Answer the question, Chioma.”
“You’re so aggy,” she complained without heat, standing up to walk over and lean against the banister. She hadn’t told anyone why she had an affinity for this type of weather. Had never had to actually verbalize it as she had been this way for years. She crossed her ankles and pursed her lips in thought. Trying to figure out how to tell him this without making herself feel foolish.
To his credit, Erik didn’t rush her. He sat there patiently watching her as he drained his mug and set it down near his feet. His face told her that he could wait all night if he had to.
A side effect of the military probably, Chioma thought.
“My mom used to tell me that the rain signified change. Rebirth. The washing away of the old. Growing something better in its place. She told me I could be whoever I wanted because the rain would wash away remnants of my old life. I used to play pretend every time there was a storm and I couldn’t go outside.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as nostalgia overtook her. “My mom was a director at the only playhouse in a five town radius. Used to bring home the unwanted kids costumes and I would spend hours in my room just playing make-believe. I could be a fairy or a knight. A princess or a scientist. It didn’t matter because the rain was magic in my mind. No one would remember Chioma Edwards. When I got into high school and hit my emo phase, I used the rain as a soundtrack for my terrible short stories. Fantasy mostly.”
“Oh yeah? Were they any good?”
Chioma shook her head, the smile growing as she recalled a particularly awful piece she’d submitted for a contest. She hadn’t even gotten a participation ribbon.
“Hell no,” she laughed brightly, all of her teeth on display. “But it was another form of escape. Another adventure to go on. Now,” she paused and sighed into her mug before she pulled the last dregs past her lips. “It just makes me forget. Forget my dumb nine to five. Forget my failed love life and broken friendships. I can just focus on the now. Daydream about the future. Pretend that my soulmate is just going to show up and whisk me into this whirlwind life where I’m loved and a lot less lonely. ”
“You really into that romantic shit, huh?” Erik asked gently but with a tinge of playfulness to lessen the sting. She was but she was afraid to admit it.
Chioma shrugged, lifting the empty mug to her rapidly heating face to hide her embarrassment behind its wide mouth. She hadn’t meant to say all that, not really. Especially not to someone like Erik.
“Yeah, I guess. It’s probably stupid, huh?”
“Nah,” he said making her look up at him, through her lashes. Erik stood to make his way over to her, leaning against the banister in front of her and crossing his arms. “It’s a little headass, but it ain’t stupid.”
“Gee, thanks,” she snorted.
Erik stared at her heavily for a moment, assessing in that way that he always did when he got her to admit something. In the beginning, this had made her feel like a science project, but she’d gotten used to it. Mostly. Understanding that Erik was a watcher. His perception as sharp and quick, deciphering even the slightest quiver of her brow gave him what felt like an entire view into her mind. It was annoying but unsettling and a little awe-inducing.
“What?” she questioned impatiently after a few moments of him reading her.
“Ya hopeless romantic ass ever been kissed in the rain?”
Chioma’s blinked her eyes so quickly she thought she’d take flight. Whatever she thought Erik was going to say, it wasn’t that. She shook her head slowly wondering where he was going with this.
“Have you?”
Erik looked out into the road as the street lights blinked on one by one, illuminating the block in a soft, nearly fairy-like glow. He was quiet for a long moment, almost to the point that she thought he wouldn’t answer.
“Once.”
What?
Chioma took a moment to regard him with wide eyes, certain she had made that up. The rain was a little on the loud side and Erik wasn’t much of a loud talker. Maybe she’d misheard. Right?
“Shocked?” he questioned, turning back to her.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I just,” she paused and really looked at him, wondering if she’d misjudged him. It wouldn’t be hard. For all the conversations they’d had, personal experiences were a slow exchange. Choosing to exchange surface information back and forth seemed safer. She knew the basics of Erik. Current job, relationship status, education, military experience. But she couldn’t say she knew him. Chalking his mysterious contract with the government up as a reason for him being as tight-lipped as he was. But she thought she knew this about him.
“Figured that romantic shit wasn’t your style.”
He scratched his chin with an almost rueful smile on his face. “It usually isn’t.”
To say her curiosity was piqued would be a dramatic understatement. Her eyes jumped down to look at his for a fleeting second as she licked her own. They were so big and soft looking. Envy for whoever got to experience them bloomed in her chest but didn’t outweigh the opportunity to ask her question.
“What was it like?”
Expectations had Chioma thinking Erik would roll his eyes and make a joke about being the world’s most amazing kisser. But expectations were never reality. This time, as Erik stepped forward and bent down to capture her lips with his, reality had expectations beat a billion times over. He took full advantage of the small gasp that left her, his tongue sweeping in to massage in a way that had her toes curling in her cabin socks. The flavor of chocolate on amplified his taste and Chioma’s eyes rolled to the back of her head with a small moan. The man could kiss, not that she hadn’t expected as much. He drank from her the way she had daydreamed as a child, dancing around in her room waiting for prince charming. But even that couldn’t compare to this. Erik smiled against her, giving her bottom lip a gentle suckle before he pulled back with a wet smack. But he didn’t go far, still hovering above her mouth, so close she could see the specks of lighter brown in irises of his eyes when she finally opened her own. His face held a wonder that she was sure matched her own.
“Not like that.”