Chapter 33 - The Autumn Gale
The first autumn gale swept down the coast in late September, hurling sheets of rain against the glass and driving towering, foam-crested waves against the granite walls of our cove. Inside the library, the storm felt like a distant theatrical production rather than a threat.
Adrien stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the tempest churn the grey Atlantic into a boiling soup of whitecaps. He held a mug of black coffee, his expression serene.
I sat curled up in the corner of the velvet sofa, a thick woolen afghan draped over my legs, sketching the jagged silhouette of the cliffs against the lightning-streaked sky.
“Remember our first storm in Manhattan?” Adrien asked quietly, not turning around. “The night the rival faction tried to breach the penthouse while the blizzard knocked out the grid.”
“I remember sitting in the dark with a loaded Sig Sauer in my lap and wondering if we’d see sunrise,” I replied, my pen pausing on the page.
May you like
Adrien turned, walking over to sit beside me on the sofa. He set his mug down on the low oak table and pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on my head. “We don’t need weapons anymore, Evelyn. The only thing the wind is breaking out there is dead branches.”
“It’s a good feeling,” I murmured, closing my sketchbook and leaning into his solid, unchanging warmth. “Knowing that the only storm we have to weather is the one outside.”
