Amara hated field visits.
It wasn't that she disliked fresh air—she just preferred it in small, controlled doses, maybe with a latte in hand and a quiet park bench nearby. Not out here, where mud clung to her heels and the sky looked ready to pour buckets of rain.
She glanced at her phone: 2:07 p.m. The team was supposed to meet the investors at the Riverside construction site at two sharp, and, of course, half the group was late.
The one person who wasn't late, unfortunately, was Daniel.
He stood near the edge of the foundation markings, surveying the landscape like he owned the place. His shirt was tucked neatly into dark trousers, but his jacket was already tossed over a steel beam, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back by the wind. He looked like he belonged here—confident, relaxed, infuriatingly at ease.
Amara , meanwhile, was struggling to keep her notepad from flying out of her hands.
"Quite the view, isn't it?"
His voice startled her. He had appeared at her side without warning, hands in his pockets, blue eyes glinting with amusement.
"If you like mud and uneven terrain, sure," she said dryly.
He chuckled, tilting his head as though studying her. "You don't strike me as the type who enjoys getting her shoes dirty."
"I enjoy efficiency," she corrected, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And standing around in the cold doesn't exactly qualify."
Before Daniel could reply, thunder rumbled overhead. A collective groan rose from the small group of staff nearby. Seconds later, the sky opened up, and rain came crashing down in sheets.
Chaos erupted—people scattering, papers flying, shouts about shelter. Amara gasped as icy drops pelted her face, soaking through her blouse in seconds. She fumbled to protect her notepad, but it was hopeless. The ink began to blur, pages curling under the relentless rain.
And then—warmth.
Daniel was suddenly there, holding his jacket over her head like a shield.
"Come on!" he shouted over the downpour, grabbing her wrist.
Her first instinct was to protest, but the storm left little room for pride. She let him pull her toward a half-finished structure, where they ducked beneath a steel frame that offered minimal but much-needed cover.
For a moment, they stood there, breathless, dripping, the sound of rain drumming against metal all around them. Lily clutched her ruined notepad, cheeks flushed.
"Well," she muttered, "there goes my entire afternoon's work."
Daniel leaned against a beam, shaking water from his hair like a carefree child. "You mean your very efficient, perfectly organized notes? Tragic."
She shot him a glare, but his grin was disarming. Something about the way his eyes softened when they met hers made it difficult to stay annoyed.
"You think this is funny?" she asked.
"A little," he admitted. "But only because you look—" He stopped abruptly, his smile faltering.
"Look what?"
He hesitated, then shrugged. "Different. Less… polished. More real."
Her breath caught, though she tried to mask it with a scoff. "Translation: I'm a mess."
"No," he said quietly, his gaze lingering on her. "Translation: you're beautiful."
The words landed between them, heavier than the rain. Amara's pulse quickened. No one had said that to her in a long time—at least, not in a way that felt uncalculated, unforced. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Before she could gather her thoughts, the investors arrived—running late, flustered, and just as soaked. The spell broke instantly. Daniel straightened, his easy charm snapping back into place as he greeted them. Amara quickly busied herself with salvaging what was left of her notes.
But even as the meeting stumbled forward, her mind replayed his words over and over. You're beautiful.
Later, when the rain had slowed and the group began to disperse, Daniel walked beside her toward the row of waiting taxis.
"You okay?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching.
She nodded. "Fine."
"You don't look fine."
"Because I'm drenched."
He chuckled. "Fair enough."
They reached her cab, and she paused, hand on the door handle. He was standing close—closer than necessary. For a fleeting second, she wondered what might happen if she didn't pull away.
But she did.
"Thanks for the jacket," she said softly.
He gave her a crooked smile. "Keep it. Consider it a peace offering."
Before she could argue, he shut the cab door for her. Through the rain-streaked window, she watched him walk away, shoulders squared, hair plastered to his forehead.
And for the first time, she admitted to herself what she had been denying since the coffee shop.
Daniel Hayes was getting under her skin.