Rain hammered against the pavement around them, her shoulders suddenly warm with the pressure of Jackson's jacket draped across them. He guided them out of the initial downpour, but all she could do was smile as she twisted her head in his direction. "What are you so worried about when we're already wet?" she posed the question with a mischievous quirk of her brow. "Isn't there a quote somewhere about how life is all about learning to dance in the rain?" she added, walking out into the street and holding her hand out to him.
Jackson’s smile curved, soft around the edges. “Now that you say it like that, I realize who I’m talking to—and maybe that attempt at chivalry was a little wasted.” His laugh was quiet, not unkind, more like he was laughing at himself.
Trinity wasn’t like most women. She had a way of turning fleeting moments into something lasting, of stepping into the rain as if it were her first and last chance to feel it. She never worried about appearances, only about the truth of how it felt. Jackson admired that more than he could ever said out loud.
“Still,” he murmured, his voice dipping with a hint of self-consciousness, “I don’t think you’d really want me to dance. With music, maybe I can pass for half decent. But without it? Without something to cover the edges…” He shook his head lightly, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his mouth. “That might not be the memory you’d want.”















