Chapter 2
TWO
PARKER
The handshake shouldn't have meant anything.
I sat in my dressing room after the show, staring at my right hand like it might explain why my skin still prickled where Dawson had touched it. We were partners now, apparently, which was ridiculous because we'd been working together for eight months.
But something had changed today, and I couldn't quite put my finger on what.
My phone buzzed with a text from my best friend Carys.
How's Mr. Grumpy Weatherman today?
Carys had been hearing about Dawson since my first week at the station.
Less grumpy than usual. Brought him pad thai.
YOU brOUGHT HIM FOOD? The uppercase letters spoke of her astonishment. Parker Fleetwood, are you lusting after the man?
My fingers hovered over the phone. Was I? No. Absolutely not. I was just being professional. We had a big storm potentially heading our way, and Dawson needed to eat.
Just being nice. We have hurricane coverage coming up.
Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that.
I set my phone down and caught my reflection in the mirror. My carefully styled hair was already falling into my eyes and I needed to shave again. There was a coffee stain on my shirt and I looked tired and unpolished for someone whose job was to look put together on camera.
Eight months ago, I'd taken this job to escape. To put distance between myself and Callan, my partner who'd been sleeping with his personal trainer for six months before I'd found out. The humiliation had been worse than the heartbreak. Everyone in our social circle had known except me.
So when Isla had called about the morning show host position, I'd said yes without negotiating salary. I'd packed up my apartment in two days and driven six hours to a city where no one knew about my failed relationship or my cheating ex or the house we'd already put a deposit on.
For months, I'd thrown myself into work. I'd made friends with the crew, boosted the ratings and smiled until my face hurt. And if sometimes I felt hollow inside, well, that was just part of moving on.
Then I'd noticed Dawson.
It had been my second week. I'd arrived early.
I was still learning the studio layout, and found him in the weather center.
He'd been bent over his desk, completely absorbed in some weather model on his screen.
The morning light had caught the sharp line of his jaw, and he'd been humming something unconsciously under his breath and it was surprisingly melodic.
I'd stood in the doorway like a fool, just watching him work.
There was something compelling about his focus and how he moved with such quiet confidence.
The deep line of concentration between his brows was oddly endearing, and when he'd finally noticed me and looked up with those green eyes, I'd felt something flutter in my chest.
Then he'd scowled and asked what I wanted, and I'd remembered that I was still healing. I wasn't ready and was still too broken to think about being attracted to someone, especially someone who clearly had no interest in me.
So I'd buried it and focused on the professional relationship. I'd done my best to not notice how good he smelled which reminded me of pine and rain and something else I couldn't name. I tried not to feel hurt when he bristled at my on-air translations of his forecasts.
But lately, something had been changing. The grief had finally loosened its grip, and I was starting to feel like myself again. That meant I was also starting to notice that Dawson Adair was not just attractive. He was fascinating, brilliant even. And underneath all that grumpiness, he was kind.
The way he'd looked at the storm data today, especially the immediate concern in his voice. He cared about keeping people safe. And when I'd apologized for cutting him off, he'd listened.
A knock on my dressing room door startled me out of my thoughts.
"Come in."
Isla poked her head inside. "Got a minute? We need to talk coverage strategy."
I followed her to her office, where she already had the weather models pulled up on her screen.
Isla was in her fifties with silver-streaked hair and a sharp intelligence that made people underestimate her at their peril.
She'd hired me when no one else would take a chance on someone from a smaller market, and I'd never forgotten it.
"Dawson says we could have a major hurricane headed our way." She gestured at the projected paths. "He wants extended coverage starting Wednesday."
"He's right. People need advance warning for evacuation planning."
"That's why I'm giving him whatever he needs." She leaned back in her chair. "But I need you two to work together without the usual friction. Can you do that?"
"We don't have friction."
Her look was skeptical. "Parker, I've been in this business thirty years. I know when two people are circling each other."
My cheeks flamed with embarrassment. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" She pulled up the morning's broadcast footage and hit play. There I was, translating Dawson's forecast, and there he was, looking at me with an expression I'd never noticed. It was almost as if he… cared. "He respects you even if he doesn't always show it the way you'd like."
"He thinks I dumb down his work."
"He thinks you make his work accessible.
There's a difference." She closed the video player.
"Look, I don't know what's going on between you two, and I don't need to.
But this storm could be serious. I need my morning show host and my meteorologist functioning as a team, not whatever dance you've been doing. "
"We shook hands on it today. We're partners."
Something in my voice made her smile. "Good. Now go home and get some rest. If this storm tracks our way, none of us will be sleeping much later in the week."
The drive home took me past downtown where the evening crowd was just starting to emerge. Restaurants were filling up, and people were laughing on patios, completely unaware that in seventy-two hours they might be boarding up windows and evacuating.
My apartment was a small but comfortable one-bedroom on the third floor with a view of the park.
I'd spent the past eight months making it mine with bright throw pillows, plants that somehow survived my erratic schedule, and photos of friends and family, though I'd cut Callan out of the ones with me.
I'd kept my college rowing pics on one shelf.
That was back when I had more free time.
I heated up leftovers and settled on the couch with my laptop. I should have been reviewing tomorrow's script, but instead I found myself googling Dawson.
There wasn't much apart from a brief bio on the station's website and a few mentions in articles about local weather events. I studied one photo from a charity 5K where he looked deeply uncomfortable in a race number.
There was nothing about his personal life and he didn't appear to have a social media presence. It was as though he'd deliberately made himself invisible outside of work and I wondered why that was.
My phone rang. Carys's face filled the screen.
"Tell me you're not googling the weather guy."
I closed my laptop hoping I didn't look guilty. "How did you know?"
"Because I know you. And because you have that tone in your texts. The one that means you're catching feelings." Carys was bouncing up and down, accompanied by the unmistakable background noise of a spinning class. She wasn't even out of breath.
"I'm not. I'm just... curious."
She laughed. "Parker, you brought the man food and you negotiated a partnership handshake. You're practically courting him."
"People in the twenty-first century don't court. We date."
"Semantics. The point is, you like him."
I leaned back against the couch cushions. "What if I do? He barely tolerates me most days."
"The Parker Fleetwood I know doesn't give up that easily. Besides, I've seen the broadcast clips you send me. The way he looks at you? That's not barely tolerating."
"That's him wishing I'd let him give twenty-minute lectures on atmospheric pressure."
"Nope." She popped that P hard. "He's hoping you notice he exists as more than just the station's meteorologist."
The words were both warm and terrifying. "I'm not ready."
"You've been not ready for eight months. At some point, not ready becomes an excuse." Carys's voice softened. "Callan was an asshole who didn't deserve you. Don't let him take away your ability to see when someone good is right in front of you."
After we hung up, I sat in the growing darkness of my apartment. Carys was right. I'd been using my broken engagement as a shield and protecting myself from the possibility of getting hurt again.
But Dawson wasn't Callan. He was grumpy and particular and sometimes frustrated me beyond belief, but he was also genuine. What you saw was what you got. He didn't play games or lie.
And I couldn't ignore how my body reacted to him, along with the catch in my breath when he stood too close and the warmth that spread through me when he smiled, rare as that was.
My phone buzzed with an email from the station. Dawson had sent updated storm models to the whole team, along with a detailed breakdown of projected impacts. Even in an email, his passion for his work came through. He cared so deeply about getting it right and trying to keep people safe.
I found myself smiling at the screen.
Tomorrow, we'd start preparing for potential hurricane coverage. We'd be spending long hours together and put trust in each other to serve the viewers.
Maybe Carys was right and not ready was just an excuse. Perhaps it was time to stop hiding behind my professional smile and acknowledge what had been building between us since that second week.
The storm was coming in more ways than one.
I pulled up the weather models Dawson had sent, studying the projected path. If this hurricane made landfall anywhere near us, we'd be looking at dangerous conditions. There'd be flooding, power outages and potential evacuations.
And through all of it, I'd be standing beside Dawson, translating his expertise for viewers who needed to know how to keep their families safe.
I grabbed my phone and opened a new message to him.
Got your models. This looks serious. Coffee before the show tomorrow? We should coordinate messaging.
The response came faster than I expected.
6:30. The place next to the station.
See you there.
I set my phone down as my heart did some complicated maneuver in my chest. It was just coffee with two colleagues preparing for emergency coverage.
But the way I'd reacted when he'd shaken my hand earlier suggested it might be something more.
And for the first time in eight months, I wasn't sure if that terrified me or thrilled me. Maybe both.