Page 39 of Merry Fake Bride

No… it doesn’t stop completely.

Just over me.

The loud patter of raindrops hitting something above me becomes the only noise.

Glancing up, a dark shape hovers over my head.

As fear makes my heart jump painfully, I spin on the spot and lock onto a painfully familiar set of eyes belonging to a man standing in the rain while holding the large umbrella over my head.

He’s aglow in the headlights of a car parked just behind him where another man stands by the driver’s door, watching us.

“Kairo?”

“Devon, what are you doing out here all by yourself? You’ll catch your death! Let me take you home.”

10

KAIRO

The streets of New York turn into a river within seconds of the sky opening and the harshest November storm to hit the city erupts overhead.

I huddle in my seat and stare at my phone while Martin weaves expertly through the storm, and the gentle music in the car is disturbed by the rhythmic thump of the wiper blades battering back and forth.

My last conversation with Ryan led me to research everything I could about land rights, including the extent of a tenant's power, depending on how long they’ve held the building.

It gets murky enough that people like my father often benefited from these laws, and a lack of knowledge prevents people from fighting back.

But as we pull up to a stoplight, something makes me look up and my heart freezes in an icy grasp when I see her.

Between the raindrops racing down my window stands Devon.

I’d know her anywhere and the dark shadows of the streets warped by the pouring rain can’t hide her from me.

She huddles over herself trying to protect her cast from the downpour.

Yet, I can’t see her face.

Is this wishful thinking, my mind trying to slot Devon into any space that accepts her because I so badly want to see her again?

Regardless, I grab my umbrella from the casing and shove open the door, much to Martin’s audible surprise.

The wind whips away his cry as I hurry out into the downpour.

Rain lashes against my face like icicles flying through the air while the wind tugs violently at my clothes.

It’s a momentary struggle to get the umbrella open but once it pops up, I rush toward Devon and thrust it over her head.

She slowly turns to face me and the wariness on her face melts into anger the moment we lock eyes.

But it is her.

Devon.

Out here in the middle of a New York storm at one thirty in the morning, absolutely soaked to the bone and resembling a lost kitten.

“Kairo?”

The anger in her word warms my heart more than I expect, and it’s tough not to smile just at the sound of her voice. “Devon,what are you doing out here all by yourself? You’ll catch your death! Let me take you home.”