Chapter Twelve #2
There’s an echo of my own frustration with trying to balance chasing season with my bank account. I offer her a sympathetic smile. “If only tornadoes paid the bills, right?”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Haley laughs, something melancholy lingering in her smile. “You guys after anything in particular this year?”
Wes launches into an explanation of the Nature Shots contest, which eventually leads us into the forecast for the afternoon. Chloe pulls out her phone and hands it over to Wes with a wink. “You tell anyone I let you see the group chat and you’re a dead man.”
I glance back and forth between them. “What group chat?”
“Meteorologist group chat,” Wes explains, though he’s distracted.
He’s quiet for a minute, scrolling through the conversation, and then returns the phone with an enormous grin.
“We were heading in that direction anyway, but good to have it confirmed by the pros.” He turns toward me, excitement animating his expression. “Ready to go catch a tornado or two?”
“On camera.” I narrow my eyes, playfully stabbing a finger into his chest. “Only on camera.”
Tracy is waiting for me as soon as I step out of the bathroom.
“Hey, when did you get here? I was just heading back—”
“Nope, you’re not getting away that easily,” she cuts in, already tugging me around the side exit, away from where everyone else is gathered outside. “You’ve been ignoring my texts.”
“I texted you twenty minutes ago!”
“Yeah, but you ignored the ten messages before that.”
“Most people would take a hint,” I grumble, glancing around when she finally lets go. I give her a pointed look. “I don’t want to talk about Wes. There’s really nothing to talk about.”
Tracy’s brows shoot up. “You’ve been alone all this time and nothing has happened?”
My blush gives me away before I can come up with a response. Her eyes go wide, a knowing grin taking over her expression. “Something did happen!”
“Keep your voice down!” I hiss while scanning again for anyone who might overhear. “It’s not…I don’t know what it is. Let me figure that out before you interrogate me.”
Tracy laughs and then casts a speculative look at me. “So was it a kiss or…?”
Technically we kissed two weeks ago, so it shouldn’t be a big deal to admit. I hesitate anyway, checking yet again for anyone coming around the side of the building, before I squeak out a yes.
Tracy squeals and holds up her hand for a high five.
Sighing, I meet her stare with a silent Are you really making me do this?
that’s immediately met with an unspoken Obviously yes.
But no sooner do I slap my palm against hers than she’s striding around the side of the building shouting, “Matt, you owe me a hundred bucks!”
“You bet on me?” I dart after her, not that she bothers to reply with anything but more laughter.
When Wes asks a few minutes later if I’m too hot and want to go sit in the air-conditioned car, I quickly take the out. By the time afternoon rolls around and we’re back on the road, I can almost look at him without blushing.
It helps that we’re nearly in position with a new storm. Its structure is impressive, defined inflow bands hanging low above the ground as if the storm is crooking a gnarled finger to draw the unsuspecting in.
The slow-moving cell produces a stunning lightning show, but frustration still gnaws at the back of my mind as sunset gives way to twilight and then deepens into inky night.
Any other year I’d be thrilled to capture the anvil crawlers racing through the clouds, shading the roiling mass of the storm lavender and deep purple.
This is supposed to be fun, I remind myself as I stare up at the sky, my camera fixed on a tripod with an interval timer going. I need to remember that this is my creative break despite the pressures of the contest.
Easier said than done.
When we finally call it a night, I slide behind the wheel with a yawn, adrenaline fading and allowing exhaustion to creep back in.
It hardly helps that it’s so dark out here we might as well have fallen off the planet to float through the vastness of space instead of racing down a lonely country road.
By the time I pull into the parking lot of the hotel we booked earlier, we’re both dragging. Lightning flickers on the horizon from a far-off storm, the air warm with the lingering scent of hot dust and asphalt.
I can’t help a nervous glance at Wes. I don’t know what to expect, all the awkwardness of how to end a first date sitting uncomfortably under my skin. Except today wasn’t a date. It was just another day of storm chasing, albeit with a very enthusiastic kiss at the start.
Not that Wes seems to share my anxieties.
He yawns as he slings his bags over his shoulder and nods toward the diner across the street after I lock the car.
Despite the late hour, light spills from its windows and the neon sign by the front door proclaims they’re open.
Perks of being so close to the interstate.
“I’m going to throw my stuff into my room and grab a bite. Hungry?”
I shoulder my own bags and glance across the road again. My stomach rumbles at the thought of hot, greasy food. We were so focused on chasing we never stopped for dinner. “I could eat.”
“What’s your diner go-to?”
“Chocolate shake and fries,” I answer without thinking about it too much.
Wes lets out a loud bark of laughter, louder still in the deep quiet of the night. “You buy fruit every time we stop for snacks. I was expecting oatmeal.”
“Just because I don’t want to live off Cheetos and energy drinks for six weeks doesn’t mean I’m a health nut,” I huff. “And you know damn well that these little diners in the middle of nowhere have the best milkshakes in the country. Or maybe they just taste better after fifteen hours in the car.”
One quick stop to check in and throw our things into our respective rooms—three doors down from each other, I can’t help noting—we’re back in the elevator. This time we’re not weighed down by bags, and though Wes stands closer to me than he did pre-kiss, he doesn’t touch me otherwise.