The Night We Let the Storm In

The rain hammered against the windows of the remote mountain cabin like it was trying to break in. Lily hadn’t wanted to come here—not with him. Not after six months of tense silence and half-hearted texts. But when their mutual friends gifted them this “relationship reset” weekend, she’d reluctantly agreed. Now, trapped by the storm with her ex, Jake, she wondered if the universe had a cruel sense of humor.

They’d been college sweethearts, the kind of couple people called “goals.” But careers—hers in law, his in emergency medicine—had turned them into strangers. The last time they’d tried to sleep together, it ended in tears and a half-finished bottle of merlot.

“Power’s out,” Jake announced, holding up his dead phone. His voice was calm, the same tone he used in the ER. “Generator’s fried too.”

Lily crossed her arms. “So we’re stuck here. In the dark. With no Wi-Fi.”

“And one bed,” he added, nodding to the loft upstairs.

They ate cold sandwiches by candlelight, the air thick with unsaid things. Lily’s sweater clung to her skin, damp from the rain. She caught Jake staring at the way the fabric dipped at her collarbone.

“What?” she snapped.

“You still bite your lip when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Liar.” His smirk was infuriating. Familiar.

When the last candle died, they fumbled upstairs. The bed creaked as Lily slid under the covers, putting a careful foot of space between them. But the storm had other plans—a thunderclap shook the cabin, and she jolted into his arms.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then his fingers traced the scar on her wrist—the one from the bike accident sophomore year. “I remember when you got this,” he said quietly.

Her breath hitched. “You held my hand the whole ER visit.”

“You called me a ‘bossy know-it-all.’”

“You were.”

His laugh rumbled against her back. Slowly, dangerously, his hand slid up her arm. “Still am.”

What happened next wasn’t planned.

It was the way his thumb found the hollow behind her knee—a spot he’d memorized years ago. The way she arched into him like her body had forgotten they were supposed to be enemies. The way the storm drowned out every “shouldn’t” and “can’t.”

When his mouth finally claimed hers, it wasn’t gentle. It was six months of frustration and 3 AM texts they’d both deleted. His hands were everywhere—rough from hospital sanitizer but achingly precise. She raked her nails down his back, drawing a growl that vibrated through her bones.

“Still play dirty,” he muttered against her throat.

“You like dirty.”

The old banter unlocked something wild. They tore at clothes, not caring what ripped. The bed became a battleground of teeth and tangled sheets. When he pinned her wrists, she laughed breathlessly—until he dragged his tongue up her inner thigh and turned that laugh into a moan.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, they burned hotter.

Afterward, they lay gasping. Jake traced idle circles on her hip. “So… we’re definitely not telling the group this worked.”

She snorted. “They’ll know.”

“How?”

Lily gestured to the wrecked room—a lamp knocked over, the curtains half-pulled from the rod. “The cabin looks like a crime scene.”

He grinned, that cocky, unbearable grin she’d missed. “Worth it.”

But as dawn broke, reality crept back. They dressed in silence. Packed. Avoided eye contact.

At the car, Jake finally spoke. “This changes nothing.”

“Nothing,” Lily agreed.

But when he kissed her—slow, deep, with a promise that lingered—they both knew he was lying.