Sunlight and Rain

A playful, romantic journey of two coworkers, stolen moments, laughter, and mischief.

Sunlight and Rain

The office clock ticked slower than molasses, its hands dragging toward noon. Clara Hart tapped her pen against the edge of her desk, staring at the spreadsheet that refused to balance. Sunlight poured through the blinds, striping her arm in gold, and she wondered—not for the first time—why her boss scheduled a budget meeting at 3 p.m. on a Friday.
Across the open floor, Jake Mercer leaned back in his chair, catching her eye with that grin—the one that always meant trouble. He mouthed a single word: Lunch?
Clara knew that look wasn’t about sandwiches.
A thrill darted through her, warming her cheeks. She typed back a reply under her desk: You’re impossible.
Seconds later, her phone lit up with his response: Meet me at the rooftop.
Her heart skittered. The building’s rooftop was mostly ignored—a flat stretch of concrete with a broken bench, surrounded by the hum of the city. Hardly romantic, but it had privacy. Sort of.
Ten minutes later, she pushed open the heavy rooftop door, sunlight and warm air rushing over her. Jake was already there, leaning against the railing, tie loosened, his hair stirred by the breeze.
“You came,” he said, voice low, as though they weren’t alone in the open sky.
“Just for a few minutes,” Clara murmured, though she didn’t mean it.
Jake crossed the space with that casual confidence, the city spread below like a thousand secrets. His hand brushed hers, fingers catching, and suddenly the dull weight of the day melted away.
“I figured,” he teased, “why wait for tonight when the afternoon has its own kind of magic?”
Clara laughed, shaking her head, but her pulse raced. The sunlight burned brighter, the city roared beneath them, and for once, responsibility could wait.

By the time they slipped back into the office, cheeks flushed and hair tousled from the rooftop breeze, the fluorescent lights felt oddly heavier. Clara tried to sneak to her desk unnoticed, but a knowing glance from the receptionist nearly made her trip over her own feet.
Jake, of course, didn’t look ruffled in the slightest. He strolled past as though nothing had happened, shooting her a wink that made her both laugh and groan.
The meeting dragged on—charts, numbers, projections—but every so often Clara felt Jake’s gaze, warm and steady. Later, when most of the office had cleared out, she found him waiting by the elevators.
“You don’t have to look at me like that,” she teased.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m the only person in the room.”
He stepped closer, voice lower now. “That’s because you are.”
Her chest tightened. Playfulness had its place, but there was weight in his tone.
“Clara,” he said, “I know we joke around, sneak off like we’re in some kind of rom-com—but it’s not just fun for me. If things got messy, if people talked, if your boss gave us hell—” He lifted his gaze, steady. “I’d still choose you. No matter what.”
She swallowed, the sincerity disarming her. “No matter what?”
“No matter what.”
The elevator chimed. Their hands found each other, quiet and certain, as the doors slid shut.

The weekend should have been restful. Instead, Clara found herself replaying every moment—his promise, his eyes, the way her heart had leapt at his words.
By Monday, the office felt sharper. Whispers carried quicker, glances lingered longer. Passing the break room, Clara caught two coworkers lowering their voices, their eyes darting toward her.
Her stomach sank. This is what happens when you mix business with… whatever this is.
By lunchtime, she had a headache throbbing at her temples. Jake appeared at her desk with his easy grin and a paper cup of her favorite coffee.
“Thought you could use this.”
She forced a smile, but her chest tightened. “Jake, you can’t keep doing this. People are starting to notice.”
“So what if they do?”
“So what?” Her voice rose, cracking. “I’ve worked my tail off to be taken seriously here. One rumor, one wrong impression, and everything I’ve built could come crashing down.”
For the first time, his smile faltered.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said softly.
“I know.” She looked away, throat tight. “But maybe… maybe you’re no good for me.”
The words cut deeper than she intended. He set the coffee down, nodded once, and walked away without another word.
Clara stared at the cup, the scent of cinnamon curling up toward her, and her heart ached with the weight of what she hadn’t said—that no matter the risk, part of her didn’t want to let go.

Days later, summer eased into the evenings like honey, warm and golden. Clara walked home slower than usual, the air sweet with jasmine spilling from a flower shop’s open door.
A familiar figure leaned against the railing. Jake.
He held a small paper bag, his tie gone, sleeves rolled up. Ordinary. Unpolished. Somehow, harder to resist.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” he said.
“I wasn’t sure either.”
He pulled a bundle of daisies from the bag, tied with twine. “Not an apology. Just a reminder that life doesn’t have to be all boardrooms and deadlines.”
The simplicity undid her. She brought the flowers to her face, breathing in their freshness as tension slipped from her shoulders. Around them, neighbors chatted from balconies, a guitar strummed faintly down the block. The breeze carried it all together like a song.
“Jake,” she whispered, smiling despite herself, “I don’t know what’s smart anymore. But I do know that when I’m with you… it feels like summer after a long winter.”
Hope flickered in his eyes.
“Then maybe we don’t have to have it all figured out,” he said. “Maybe we just let the breeze take us where it wants.”
Clara laughed, unguarded, and slipped her hand into his. Together they walked down the street, the summer night stretching endlessly ahead.

A week later, the skies opened up.
Clara stood by her office window, rain streaking the glass, the city blurred and softened beyond it. Meetings had been tense, whispers hadn’t faded. The world seemed intent on reminding her that stolen joy always carried a cost.
Her chest ached with the thought: Maybe it was too fragile. Maybe it was only meant to be a moment.
Then came his voice.
“Clara.”
She turned. Jake stood in the doorway, damp from the downpour, hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging at the shoulders. Yet his eyes—steady and unshaken—held hers.
“You’ll ruin your shoes,” she said, startled.
“Doesn’t matter.” He stepped closer, leaving droplets on the carpet. “I couldn’t let another storm pass without you knowing something.”
Her throat tightened. “Jake—”
“I’m not perfect,” he said, his voice raw. “I’ll mess up, you’ll doubt, we’ll both have days where the rain feels heavier than we can handle. But Clara…” He swallowed. “I want to be the one who stands with you in it. Every storm. Every downpour. Have you ever seen the rain and thought maybe it was washing things clean instead of breaking them? That’s how I feel when I’m with you.”
She stared past him at the sheets of water falling, the street shimmering with reflections. The world was messy, yes—but maybe there was beauty in the mess, if you didn’t face it alone.
Clara crossed the room before her doubts could argue. Pressing her hand to his rain-slick shirt, she rested her forehead against his.
“Alright,” she whispered, trembling but certain. “Let’s see the rain together.”
Jake let out a breath, laughter and relief breaking through. And as the storm raged outside, they stood in the quiet shelter of each other, not knowing what tomorrow would bring—only that they would face it, side by side