"Naomi?"

Misora looked up from collecting the dishes on the picnic blanket. L was standing in his curved posture with his arms bent at the elbows and his hands in his pockets. He was looking upward toward the sky.

"What?"

L slid a hand out of his jeans pocket and pointed toward the horizon.

"That one looks like rain."

Naomi turned to look where L was pointing and beheld an ominous, grey cloud looming in the distance. A chilly wind suddenly picked up, and she lifted a hand to brush breezy strands of long, black hair out of her face.

"We'd better get going," she said uneasily.

L nodded in agreement, and he stooped to assist Naomi with packing up the cooler.

But within moments, spontaneous little raindrops began to spit down into the dirt, and a gusty wind picked up seemingly out of nowhere. The sky above darkened into a sinister grey, and with an instantaneous clap of thunder, it suddenly began to downpour in blustery, diagonal sheets.

"Ughh, seriously?!" Naomi groaned, lifting a hand over her head, as if that would accomplish anything. She hurried to attach the cooler to the motorcycle rack, and she and L mounted the bike. They took off, but Naomi quickly realized that making it all the way back to London was out of the question. She pulled over to the side of the road and turned her head toward L, the strong wind pelting the raindrops against her full-faced helmet.

"Should we wait this out in the village?" she called over the sound of the storm.

L nodded. "I think that's best," he agreed.

Naomi turned the bike around and changed course toward the village. Minutes later, the motorcycle sputtered to a stop in front of a large, Tudor-style building with a hanging sign out front that read "King's Crown Inn & Pub." The rain was coming down like a great waterfall from the heavens, and an angry, wet wind howled and whipped at everything in sight.

L and Naomi hurried under a little alcove at the entrance of the inn and removed their helmets. Both of them were completely soaked through.

"Wow, that came out of nowhere!" Naomi observed as she raked her fingers through her wet hair.

L gathered the fabric of his white shirt up to his ribcage and twisted it to wring the rainwater out onto the cobblestone ground. He looked up at the darkened sky through shadowed eyes behind drippy, black bangs.

"I'm not sure we'll make it back tonight," he commented slowly. He flicked his head, sending an artillery of droplets flying from his thick, saturated mane.

Naomi sighed and nodded. She turned toward the building, and her eyes traveled up over the old English architecture. "Guess we can stay here," she said with a slight shrug.

L had brought a thumb to his mouth and was gnawing on the end of it. "That sounds like our best option," he mumbled. "Let's go see if they have coffee."

Together, they stepped inside the busy little inn and into an open room with low, timber-beamed ceilings and cozy, dim wall sconces. The worn wood floors of the entryway gave way to deep blue nylon carpet patterned in a simple brown and cream design, and the walls were decorated with various framed oil paintings. The head of a fallow deer was displayed over a large slate and cast iron fireplace at the very back of the room. Tables for four, set with porcelain dishes and tall, wax candles, were arranged about the room, and some high-backed wooden booths lined the walls.

It was a little crowded, given the torrential downpour occurring outside, and L and Naomi made their way over to the dark-stained oak bar along the right wall where a short, middle-aged woman smiled warmly. Her short, curly locks were dyed dark brown, and she wore a pastel pink sweater with simple gold jewelry. Behind the bar with her, a bit further down, was a tall man with greying, light blond hair and thin, round spectacles. He had a hand towel draped over his shoulder, and he stood casually with both palms on the bartop making small talk with some patrons.

The woman folded her hands primly on the countertop as she addressed the two rain-sodden guests with the leather jackets slung over their shoulders and motorcycle helmets hooked over their fingertips.

"Oh my," she remarked pleasantly in a gentle British accent.  "Just look at the two of you! Soaked to the bone and in need of a hot drink, I would imagine.  How can I help you?"

Naomi smiled. "That sounds wonderful.  Are there any rooms available?"

The woman's face brightened. "There are! And thank goodness," she laughed lightly.  "You'd catch your death of cold being out in this storm, that is if you didn't drown first!"

The soft-spoken woman checked them in and handed Naomi a brass room key on a wooden fob shaped like a crown.  "I'll show you to your room," she offered.

L and Naomi were led to a doorway back by the fireplace and up a creaky, narrow staircase. It turned halfway up, and a tall window with diamond-shaped lattice panes looked out onto the howling storm.

They reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto faded burgundy carpet. The first door on the right was unlocked and opened, and the innkeeper stepped aside, gesturing hospitably for them to enter.

"Why don't you settle in and then come on downstairs? We'll fix you up with something to warm your insides."

"Thank you," Naomi nodded gratefully, and L thanked her too. They stepped into the room and shut the door.

The room was small but comfortable with vintage furnishings and simple décor. The ceilings were lined with heavy, oak beams, and the walls were painted cream, save for one with gold and mauve printed wallpaper against which a wooden headboard rested. A small bathroom was off to the left.

"That fireplace downstairs looked awfully cozy," Naomi commented as she set her shiny, black helmet, glistening with raindrops, down on an upholstered bench against the wall. "I'm freezing."

L set his helmet down too, and both of them hung their jackets over brass hooks on the back of the door.

Then L moved into the bathroom to grab a fluffy towel. He draped it over his head and rubbed it vigorously. When he pulled it away again, his ebony mane stuck up everywhere in one wild floof.

Naomi snickered.  "Hey, handsome," she teased, and she reached her arm out for the towel. L tossed it to her with a smirk.

Pulling her long, wet hair over one shoulder, Naomi used the towel to soak up the rainwater. A thunderclap sounded from outside, and she turned to gaze out the room's single window.

"Weather like this makes me think of flashlight stories and blanket forts," she commented nostalgically.

L had removed his shirt and was wringing it out over the bathroom sink. He turned to look at Naomi and tipped his head. "What are flashlight stories?" he inquired.

Naomi turned toward him, now rubbing the towel over the back of her head. "Have you ever sat in a circle with other people where someone holds a flashlight up to their face and tells scary stories?"

L stood shirtless in his loose-fitting blue jeans and whipped the white tshirt outward so that the twisted-up fabric uncrumpled to take shape again. A raised, jagged scar traveled downward from just above his collarbone all the way down to the middle of his chest- an eternal reminder of The Bishop Case they had solved over two years ago.

"I think I know what you mean," he said. "We used to have campfires at Wammy's." He looked at Naomi, as though questioning whether he had the right idea.

"Yes, that's what I mean," Naomi confirmed. "My brothers and I used to hang blankets over the backs of chairs and then sit underneath and do that." She laughed and added wistfully, "and I always remember doing it during thunderstorms."

L shoved his arms into his long, white sleeves and adjusted the damp, wrinkled shirt over his skinny torso.  He shoved his hands into his pockets and then stood for a moment just watching Naomi as she looked out the window, listlessly toweling her hair, lost in a childish memory.

"You ready?" he finally asked.

"Yep."

Naomi tossed the towel onto the bed and together, they headed back down the bending, narrow staircase.

A table had already been prepared for them, and they were seated in a booth along a wall with an oil painting of a flock of pheasants. A television screen hung in the corner and was playing a world-wide news station.

"We should call Watari," Naomi commented, taking her phone out of her pocket.

L agreed and Naomi dialed the number.  She put the phone to her ear, but heard nothing after several seconds.  Wrinkling her nose, she pulled the phone away to look at the screen.  The call wasn't going through.  Figuring the storm was interfering with cell service, she tried to send a text message instead.

While Naomi fiddled with her phone, L's dark-rimmed eyes were fixed on the TV screen mounted in the corner.

"I can't get service," Naomi said at last, returning the phone to her pocket.  She looked at L, who was still eye-locked with the T.V.  Twisting around and looking up to try to see the screen, she asked,  "What's so interesting?"

The news story concluded, and the program moved on to the next bit in the broadcast. L's eyes moved back down to Naomi, and she turned to face him again, tilting her head inquisitively.

"It appears as though an inmate serving a life sentence in Los Angeles may have been murdered," L informed her. His eyes traveled slowly away from Naomi and to nothing in particular, like he was thinking. He went on, speaking slowly. "Apparently, he suffered a stroke last night and was taken to the hospital... and then early this morning, there was an explosion in his room. No one else was hurt, but..." His voice trailed off and his eyes came to rest on the wooden tabletop. He sat with the end of his thumb between his teeth.

"That's awful," Naomi remarked, curling her lip in disgust.

"Yes..."  L thought for a moment longer, then looked up at her again.  "Perhaps we should use the landline to call Watari?"

Naomi nodded.  "I'll go," she offered, and she slid out of the booth. She made her way over to the front desk and made the call, informing Watari that they were safe and would return the next day.

"Thank you," Naomi said, returning the phone to the woman who had shown them to their room.  "And as long as I'm here, could we get two cappuccinos?"

"Of course," the innkeeper obliged.

Naomi stood drumming her fingers on the wooden countertop as she scanned the large room. The atmosphere was warm and lively and hummed with pleasant conversation.  A group of men laughed heartily from the other end of the bar.

"A bit stranded, are we?"

"Hmm?"  Naomi turn to face the older woman.  "Oh... Oh, yes. A bit," she answered, smiling politely and shrugging one shoulder.

"Where are you from, if I might ask?"

The cappuccino machine whirred and sputtered and gave off a rich aroma of espresso and frothy, warm milk.

"Oh, I'm Japanese," Naomi explained.  "I was born in the Kanto region, near Tokyo."

"Oh, lovely! Your English is very good... though I must say, it sounds very American."

"Yes, I spent some time in America." She gestured toward L on the other side of the room.  He was once again captivated by a news story on the television screen.   "That's actually where we met," Naomi added. 

"University?"

"No, ah... through work." 

The Englishwoman responded sweetly, "Oh isn't that nice!  My husband and I run this inn together.  Going to work everyday isn't so bad when it's with someone you love." 

Two wide-rimmed mugs brimming with snowy foam were now being sprinkled with cinnamon.

Naomi's face broadened into a smile as she looked over toward her boyfriend again.  He had taken his shoes off and had set them under the booth, and now, he sat with his knees bent up to his chest and his bare feet on the leather cushion.  What came as a strange sight to most was familiar and endearing to Naomi Misora.  The faded blue jeans, the plain, white t-shirt, that wild head of pitch-black hair... all of it was her L Lawliet.

"Yeah... It's pretty great," she beamed.

She truly did love her job.  But even more so, she loved the quirky and brilliant man with whom she shared it.