Elizabeth's Pov

The rain had stopped, but I was still soaked.

My blouse clung to my skin, my hair dripped water down my neck, and every step I took made a wet squelching sound in my shoes. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering.

"Stupid Jason," I muttered through chattering teeth. "Stupid umbrella. Stupid Jessica. Stupid rain."

My anger kept me warm for about three seconds before the cold crept back in.

The street was quiet. Empty. Just me and the puddles reflecting the streetlights.

Then I heard it the low hum of an engine slowing down behind me.

I didn't turn around. Probably just someone looking for an address or—

The car stopped.

I kept walking.

A window rolled down. "Claire?"

I froze.

That voice.

Slowly, I turned around.

A sleek black car sat at the curb, engine idling. And behind the wheel, staring at me with those sharp, confused eyes, was Rashford Wilson.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

"What are you doing out here?" He leaned slightly toward the passenger window, brows furrowed.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Say something. Anything. You're Claire. Act like Claire.

But all I could think was: Why him? Why now? Why does the universe hate me?

"Claire." His voice was firmer now. "Get in the car."

"I'm fine."

"You're soaking wet and shivering. Get in."

"I said I'm—"

"Claire." He said it like a command, not a suggestion. "Get. In."

I stood there for another second, dripping and stubborn, before my frozen fingers finally gave in. I walked to the passenger side and slid into the car.

The warmth hit me immediately. The heater was on full blast, and the leather seats were soft and dry. I tried not to sigh in relief.

Rashford glanced at me, then reached into the back seat and pulled out a towel. He handed it to me without a word.

I took it, mumbling, "Thanks."

He pulled back onto the road, and the silence stretched between us.

I dabbed at my hair, sneaking glances at him through the rearview mirror. His jaw was tight, eyes focused on the road. But every few seconds, his gaze would flick up and meet mine in the reflection.

My heart did something stupid.

Stop it. This is Rashford Wilson. Your rival. The guy who made your life hell in college.

But Claire's heart didn't care. It fluttered anyway.

"So," he said finally, breaking the silence. "What were you doing out there?"

I hesitated. Think, Elizabeth. What would Claire say?

"I took the wrong bus," I said quickly. "Got off at the wrong stop and... well, then it started raining."

His eyes flicked to the mirror again. "Why didn't you just wait for the next one?"

"I thought I could walk. It wasn't supposed to rain this much."

He was quiet for a moment, and I could see his jaw working like he was holding back words.

"You should've called someone," he said finally.

"I didn't want to bother anyone."

"Claire." His voice softened slightly. "You wouldn't have been bothering me."

My chest tightened. Stop being nice. Stop making this complicated.

The car slowed, and I looked up to see we weren't heading toward Claire's apartment.

We were pulling up to Wilson's Brew.

"Why are we—"

"You need something hot," he said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "You're freezing. Come on."

"I'm fine, really—"

He shot me a look. The kind that said don't argue with me right now.

I sighed and followed him out.

Inside, the café was dark except for the soft glow of the back lights. Rashford flipped a switch, and warm light flooded the space.

"Sit," he said, pointing to a chair near the counter.

I sat.

He moved behind the counter, pulling out cups and grinding coffee beans. The sound filled the quiet space, and I watched him work.

This is so weird. I'm sitting in Rashford Wilson's café, soaking wet, while he makes me coffee.

A few minutes later, he slid a steaming cup across the counter.

"Drink."

I wrapped my cold hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. Then I brought it to my lips and took a sip.

And immediately regretted it.

"Why is it so bitter?" The words were out before I could stop them.

I froze.

No. No, no, no.

Slowly, I raised my gaze.

Rashford was staring at me.

His brows drew together, confusion flickering across his face.

"What did you say?"

My mind raced. Think. Fix this. Now.

"I—I mean—" I forced a nervous laugh. "It's just... strong. Really strong. I'm not used to coffee this strong."

He didn't look convinced.

"You've had my coffee before," he said slowly. "You've never complained."

Because Claire never complained. But Elizabeth always did.

I swallowed hard. "I guess I'm just... tired. Everything tastes weird when you're tired, right?"

He watched me for a long moment, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Then he reached under the counter and pulled out a small container of sugar. He slid it toward me.

"Add some if it's too bitter."

I nodded quickly, grabbing the sugar and dumping two spoonfuls into the cup. I stirred it way too enthusiastically, avoiding his eyes.

When I finally dared to look up again, he was still watching me.