Not that he could mention any of this to Cherisse.

The pounding rain outside didn’t help getting to her apartment any quicker, and he was umbrella-less too—the rain had come out of nowhere—so he was stuck in the car, watching his phone blow up with Where are you?? texts from Cherisse.

He’d thought of telling her he was outside now, but whatever, he was actually amused by her texts, so he’d let her stew. After a while, it was clear the damn rain wasn’t stopping, so he decided to make a run for it, the rain battering him as he prayed he wouldn’t skate on the wet ground and bust his ass. He arrived unscathed but soaked, water running down his face as he rang the bell. The door swung open, and Remi stood in the doorway, umbrella in hand. She swept him with an up-down look, taking in his drenched clothes. “Your guest is here!” she called over her shoulder. “Good luck,” she told him cheerfully, brushing past, giant umbrella whooshing open as she made her way to her car.

Left on his own to face Cherisse’s wrath, he took a deep breath and entered the apartment, shutting the door behind him. Dammit, he was creating a puddle in the doorway. He’d get more shit for that.

Stuck in that one spot, he waited for Cherisse to appear. The first thing he noticed was the singing. Perfect pitch and tone, belting out a song he didn’t recognize. It was the type of voice that made you stop and listen. Calming, yet burrowing deep in your chest, grabbing hold. He froze as Cherisse exited a door just off the kitchen, head bent over her phone, probably about to send him another scathing text, while effortlessly hitting notes that had goosebumps popping up along his arms.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, stunned.

The song died on her lips as she shrieked, hand pressing to her chest, phone nearly flying as it fumbled in her hand. “Holy fuck! When did you get here?”

“Literally just this second. Guess you didn’t hear Remi announce me?”

“I sure as shit didn’t! Jesus, fuck.” She took several deep breaths to calm herself, hand gripping her phone as if she intended to throw it at him.

“Sorry.”

She took one last deep breath, folded her arms across the front of her blue romper, and said, “You’re late. And wet.”

Her hair secured in two plaits, face bare of makeup, she was even more casual than she’d been at the flower crown-making session. In spite of the fission of anger that reared up at the memory of what she’d said, Keiran stared, cataloging her bare feet, with toes painted a bright pink. It was throwing him off as much as her voice had.

He realized he was staring, so he let his eyes flit about the apartment.

The front door led right into her living area, where there was already a whiteboard set up with scribbled bullet points and a notepad and pen tossed on the couch. The apartment was cozy. The living room led to a spacious kitchen area with a portion sectioned off for dining. A staircase led up to what Keiran assumed would be the bedrooms. Bright cushions added some color to her chocolaty brown couch, and Keiran noted framed photos hanging on the walls, some gorgeous scenery shots, and people silhouetted against a firework-lit sky. He wondered if these were Remi’s pieces or stuff they bought from other photographers.