"They should call you 'Rain.'"

He stared at her, her head thrown back to meet the sky with her golden face, the water running down through the lengths of her black, black hair, her eyelids closed and fluttering briefly when he spoke. A soaked green and white flannel clung against her slender body, and her jeans were dark with rain. He stepped closer, studying the way she pressed her tongue against her lower lip, tasting the rain and concentrating.

Lightning flashed and burst in a rumble of thunder.

"Shaina?" He stepped even closer. Warmth began to fill the space between their bodies. He reached out a hand as if to touch her, to brush the impossibly dark, soft strands of hair away from the high cheekbones, the golden skin of her Native American heritage, but he paused, then dropped his hand to his side.

Her eyes opened then. She rolled her head slightly, to better take him in. He realized then he was as wet as she. Rivers of water streamed down his hair and face, and his clothes were heavy on his body. He felt his eyes go wide as she closed the gap between them and stepped into his arms. He held her gently, resting his chin on her crown, then lowering his head to breathe against her.

She backed up a step and caught her hand against his face. He stared into the deep hazel eyes and saw them flicker with unspoken thoughts. They narrowed slightly. She pressed her tongue against her lower lip again and licked it inward, a mannerism he loved, but could never figure out. Finally, she shook her head and leaned into his chest again.

"You can call me 'Rain.'"

The rain fell down upon them, and wrapped up in each other's arms, they let it.