Chapter 7: Under the Rain

Caleb’s long, gloved fingers skimmed over every inch of the car. He checked it thoroughly, looking so at home under the fluorescent shop lights—focused, careful, the kind of guy who’d never let a detail slip by.

“Hey handsome, what’s your name?”

“Do you work here? How much do you make?”

“Interested in an easy job with good pay?”

Rachel clung to my arm, enthusiasm practically radiating off her like a scammer.

She was always like this when she found a new muse—half serious, half wild sales pitch.

Caleb didn’t look up, but still replied politely, his words short:

“Caleb.”

“Just helping a friend out sometimes.”

“Not interested.”

Rachel pouted, glanced at her buzzing phone, and walked off to answer it, looking bored. Her tone turned businesslike as soon as she picked up, switching gears with the ease of someone who’d been modeling since grade school.

My gaze lingered on Caleb’s broad back, taking him in shamelessly.

Caleb hesitated, then stood up and pulled off his gloves:

“Your friend’s car is fine.”

He tossed the gloves into a bin with practiced ease, then turned to face me fully.

I stared at him, my voice slow:

“That’s all you want to say to me?”

Caleb’s eyes flickered, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I waited him out.

He squeezed his gloves so hard they nearly deformed, then finally said:

“Just now…”

But after just two words, he trailed off. His gaze kept flickering over my face, like he was fighting an internal battle.

Following his gaze, I saw Rachel striding over, face full of annoyance. She tossed the bike keys into my arms irritably:

“Natalie, my mom’s checking up on me at home.”

“You ride the bike back for me, I’ll pick it up later.”

Rachel’s mom had strictly forbidden her from riding, even freezing her credit card over it. Classic Rachel—always pushing boundaries, but never outright breaking them.

I saw Caleb staring at the keys, frowning slightly.

After Rachel left, I jingled the keys in my hand:

“What, want a ride?”

I meant it as a joke, but his long, strong fingers pressed down on the bike, eyes lowered:

“Can I? I’ll take you home.”

His voice was low, almost hesitant. It was the first time he sounded like he genuinely wanted something, not just following the script.

I raised my brow, thinking he wanted to show off, when the comments rolled by again:

[As soon as he sees his wife about to ride a motorcycle, Caleb’s hackles go up.]

[He’ll never forget when the girl graduated high school, flipped her bike with friends, and landed in the hospital.]

[Back then, he went to the hospital every day, just watching her from the door.]

I thought for a bit—yeah, that really happened. Seems like the comments are telling the truth.

I handed Caleb the other helmet and winked:

“Sure.”

Then watched him adjust the helmet.

I leaned over and hugged his waist from behind.

His hand froze, every muscle going taut.

Like he was struggling to restrain himself, but secretly thrilled.

For a second, I flashed back to senior year, lying in a hospital bed with a busted ankle. But with Caleb here, it felt different. The moment felt loaded, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of my jacket. My heart fluttered a little, and I buried my face in his back, just to hide the smile I couldn’t suppress.

Caleb drove steadily. Not fast. The city lights blurred past, rain streaking down the visor, the engine humming between us. We didn’t speak—didn’t need to. It was enough, just being there.

The rain stung my cheeks, but all I could focus on was the steady thump of Caleb’s heart under my hands.