Page 26 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

Chapter twenty-two

Jonathan

T he thirty-mile drive to Molly’s apartment takes double the normal time despite most of the traffic heading east away from New Orleans rather than west toward it like us.

Our area is in the squall line now, which means we’re seeing strong gusts of wind and heavy rain off and on.

I drive slowly and carefully on the slick roads, which are fortunately free from debris so far.

I finally pull up to the curb outside her building, and we run through the rain to the entry door. Molly types in her code, and we step inside.

What a day. What a week . I don’t know what that kiss on the boat meant, but I also can’t dwell on it right now. I need to get Molly and her cat to my apartment and keep them safe. That’s the only thought I have room for in my brain at the moment.

As we walk up the stairs, I ask, “How did I not know you have a cat?”

Molly shrugs. “She doesn’t like strangers. She usually hides when someone she doesn’t know comes in.”

“What’s her name?”

“Beaker.”

I smile. “That’s cute.”

We get to her apartment door, and I wonder if it’s too soon to tease her by asking if she’s sure she has her key. Yeah, probably too soon. Instead, I instruct, “Just grab the cat and whatever you’ll need overnight: a change of clothes, toothbrush, whatever.”

She looks over her shoulder at me. “I don’t have time to change?”

I shake my head. “We need to be off the roads as soon as possible. You can shower and change when we get to my apartment.”

Molly looks like she’s about to say something else. Her mouth hangs open, and her forehead furrows with an unanswered question. But she closes her mouth and disappears into the back part of the apartment.

She comes out a few minutes later with an overnight bag, a litter box with its lid on, and a cat in her arms.

I chuckle. “You have a black cat.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Molly frowns.

I grin. “Nothing at all. It’s very spooky season.”

“Oh no.” She groans. “You love Halloween, don’t you?”

My smile widens. “I love Halloween. You don’t?”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Costumes and rowdy parties? Pass.”

Molly locks up her apartment and we’re back on the road.

She holds Beaker on her lap, which the cat does not seem happy about, considering how she’s growling.

My apartment is only about ten miles away, but I drive slowly.

The weather is getting worse, and because Hernando sped up at the last minute, people who wanted to evacuate didn’t get as early of a start as planned.

My nerves ratchet up, needing to get Molly somewhere safe before the storm gets any worse.

A few hours later, we’re all three tucked in safe and dry at my apartment: me, the woman I’m pretty sure I’m in love with, and her cat.

Hernando is predicted to make landfall around one in the morning, but its outer bands are no joke and have been bearing down on us for hours.

The wind outside has kicked up, and the rain has been steady.

At least the apartment complex still has power.

Objective met, I allow my mind to wander. Today was incredible. Like my own Twister moment. We braved the storm, launched our Dorothy, and watched the data come pouring in. Well, no data yet, but I’m sure we’ll see them soon.

I was Bill Paxton, Molly was Helen Hunt, and we even had a sexy makeout session in the pouring rain.

Actually, in Twister it’s a broken sprinkler or something, not rain, and certainly not early-bands-of-a-hurricane rain, so looks like Molly and I win there.

Damn, she was amazing, both at the science stuff and the kissing stuff.

My pulse kicks up just thinking about it, and I look across the dark living room toward my bedroom door.

Like a gentleman, I gave Molly my bed while I toss and turn on the couch, the material scratchy against the bare skin on my back.

Why did I buy such an uncomfortable couch?

I make a mental note that next time I’m couch shopping, I should lie down on each one to test it for sleepability.

You never know when a hurricane will necessitate inviting the woman of your dreams to sleep over platonically, forcing you onto the couch for the night.

It’s good to be prepared for that type of scenario.

I chuckle dryly to myself and shift positions again. My eyes are just getting heavy when a popping explosion from outside rouses me. The ceiling fan above me slows to a stop. Power’s out. A transformer must have blown.

As my eyes adjust to the new darkness, I think I hear a soft whimper through the bedroom door. Molly. I freeze and wait. I hear it again.

“Molly?” I call. “Are you okay?”

“Uh huh,” comes the whimpered response.

I’m on my feet and at the door in seconds. Without pausing to put a shirt on or knock, I push into my bedroom and cross the floor to the bed in several long steps.

I kneel softly by the side of the bed so I can see Molly’s face through the inky darkness. Her eyes are open, and she’s lying on her side, clutching the blanket up to her chin.

“Carrots,” I say gently. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers hoarsely. “Did you hear that?”

I reach up and stroke her hair. “Yeah. It was a transformer exploding outside. It’s why we lost power.”

Her eyes widen. “Exploding? Are we safe here?”

I lean forward and press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, baby. We’re safe here. We might get a little warm without the air conditioner, but we’re safe. I promise.”

The tension drains out of her muscles as she sinks deeper into the bed.

Her eyes flutter closed and then open again, the fear in them tempered.

A slow ache builds in my chest as I realize I did that for her.

She believes me when I promise her safety.

More than anything, I want to be worthy of her trust, although I’m certain I’ll never be fully worthy of her.

Her eyes close again, and her breathing evens out. I stand and slowly turn, tiptoeing back toward the door.

“Stay.” I hear the hushed voice behind me and turn on my heels. Her eyes are open, watching me. “Stay with me, please,” she repeats. The way she says “please,” soft and guileless, tears at my heart.

“Are you sure?” I whisper into the dark.

“I need you with me,” she says, and whether she’s just talking about tonight in the face of the hurricane, or she’s talking about forever, I’m all in.

I creep around to the other side of the bed and climb under the covers.

I roll toward Molly, pulling her into my arms and aligning her back to my chest. I nuzzle my nose into her neck, placing a soothing kiss below her ear.

She sighs and drops her head against my chest. Within minutes, her steady breathing tells me she’s asleep.

Every nerve ending in my body is on high alert as I revel in the feel of her skin against mine.

I inhale the scent of her hair, and it’s my shampoo from the shower she took in my bathroom shortly before going to bed.

I close my eyes and focus on the soft inhale and exhale of her breath lulling me to sleep.

I wake the next morning sticky with sweat. One of my arms is tucked beneath Molly’s hip, the weight of her body leaving my skin prickling and numb. My other arm curls around her, my hand resting on the T-shirt over her stomach. Our legs are tangled in the most blissful knot I’ve ever experienced.

Oh, and there’s a cat practically sitting on my face. I turn my head to try to dislodge her, but she doesn’t move. I lift my arm from Molly’s stomach and push Beaker off. She growls and resettles at the foot of the bed.

I slide my other arm out from under Molly and stretch it out to get the blood flowing again.

I left my phone in the living room when I came in here last night, and the digital clock on my nightstand isn’t working.

The power’s still out. I try to gauge what time it is based on the amount of light coming through the window, but I’m really terrible at that.

Since I’m up, I roll out of bed as quietly as possible and tiptoe out of the room.

I retrieve my phone from the coffee table and my shirt from the back of the couch.

Seven in the morning. My phone battery’s at 54 percent, which isn’t bad, considering.

I have a portable power bank fully charged in the kitchen.

I made sure it was ready to go before the storm.

I’ll check with Molly when she wakes up in case her phone situation is more dire than mine, though.

I walk into the kitchen to figure out what I can offer Molly for breakfast, my shirt flung over my shoulder.

I try to remember what I have in the refrigerator without opening it up and letting what might be left of the cold air out.

How long does the air stay cool in a refrigerator without power?

I can’t remember, but I do know the freezer will stay cold longer.

Motion in my peripheral vision causes me to turn my head in time to watch Molly shuffle into the kitchen.

She’s still wearing her pajamas—striped, loose-fitting shorts that hit about mid-thigh and a T-shirt so oversized that it almost covers the shorts completely—and her hair is tousled from sleep.

It’s a heavenly combination, and I’m still pinching myself, wondering if I was really fortunate enough to spoon with her all last night.

Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she won’t quite meet my eyes, though I notice she peruses my naked chest before dropping her gaze. I play it cool. “Good morning, Carrots.” Giving her space, I lean my butt against the kitchen counter next to the refrigerator.

“Good morning,” she mumbles. Still looking at the floor, she shuffles her feet. “We probably need to talk.”