It hadn’t stopped raining for nearly a week. Oscar was thrilled – he loved the rain, he loved watching it, standing outside in it; but Solange looked as miserable as a wet cat whenever a downpour started. He had worked with her long enough to notice that.
“Hey, Sol,” Oscar came up behind her. She was standing at the window in the break room looking thoroughly depressed. He jabbed her in the arm with his elbow and chuckled a bit. “It’s not the end of the world, this rain, you know.”
Solange blinked and turned her head to look at him, dark amusement flitting across her features. “Oh?” she replied darkly. “Who says it isn’t?”
Oscar merely smiled and stared back at her. Every time he looked at her, there was always something new about her face that captivated him. She was a pretty girl, but her appeal didn’t come from looking like a model. Her features were both delicate like flower petals and harsh like dry earth, her green eyes both dangerously intense and charmingly friendly. She was a mess of contradictions, and he loved her for it.
But he wasn’t in love with her. Not anymore, anyway.
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