THREE Sebastian
The wink the waitress tosses my way as she leads me through the restaurant where I’m meeting my friends for breakfast is flirty as hell.
So is the way she glances over her shoulder, eyes lingering on my arms for longer than what would be considered Southern hospitality. Her gaze slides to my left ring finger then back to my face, and I have to give her props for checking to make sure I’m not a taken man.
“Is this okay?” she asks, gesturing to an open table.
I squint, trying to place where I recognize her from.
There’s no way she’s my age. There’s too much life in her eyes. Not enough existential doom and gloom us thirtysomethings start to feel as we inch further away from the legal drinking age and closer to Social Security.
“It’s perfect.” I flash her a smile. She blushes like I thought she would. I have this routine perfected. “Do I know you? I swear we’ve met.”
“Oh.” She dips her chin and giggles. “Your sister used to babysit me, and I’ve seen you around town when you’ve come home for the holidays. I’m Penelope.”
“Hey, Penelope. I’m—”
“Too old for you.” Cooper Givens, resident cockblocker and the best friend I’m no longer going to speak to, throws an arm around my shoulders and tousles my hair.
I make sure to jab his side good and hard when I wrangle free from his hold.
“Leave the poor girl alone, Seb. She doesn’t want to talk to dinosaurs. ”
The waitress disappears, taking another round of giggles with her, and I turn Cooper’s way. His grin is freakishly wide for a guy who just got off a forty-eight-hour firefighting shift, and I roll my eyes.
“It’s good to see you, too, asshole,” I say.
“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you can remember her name,” he answers.
“Peggy.”
“Not even close.”
“Priscilla?”
“You’re hopeless. A for effort, though.”
“Stop the flattery, Coop. It’ll go to my head.
” I swat at his shoulder, laughing when he pulls me into a quick hug.
We drop into the booth across from each other.
I grab the pot of coffee waiting for us, filling my mug to the brim with caffeine.
“And if I’m a dinosaur, that makes you a goddamn fossil. ”
“There are three months between us, Dunn. Don’t be rude.” Cooper stretches out his legs, knee bumping mine under the table. He gives my shin a gentle kick with the toe of his boot and smiles again. “I’m surprised you left your fancy penthouse on Fifth Ave. to slum it down here with us.”
“You know I don’t live on Fifth Ave. Too many tourists.”
“Guess that means you’re practically a Manhattan local at this point. Are the rumors about the long line of models you’re seeing true? I’m going to go with no, given you’ve taken up accosting twenty-four-year-olds in diners.”
“What a welcome home this is.” It’s my turn to kick him, and I make sure to land right on his ankle. He lets out a sharp groan, and I smirk. “See if I share the cheesecake I brought back with me.”
“The prodigal son has certainly returned. The girl at the hostess stand is doodling Sebastian’s name all over the seating chart.
I forget how people fawn over you.” Nathan, the other half of my friend group, interrupts us and takes the spot in the booth next to Cooper.
“It’s good to see you, Sebby. You’re the only thing besides my plants or a fresh blueberry pie that could drag me out of bed this early. ”
“I’m sitting right here,” Cooper says.
“And my statement still stands.” Nate gives him a once-over, moving to look at me. “What are you doing in town? Is this an extended vacation? Does ABC want to replace you?”
“I hope not. I got the okay to branch out and try something new, so it would be shitty if I was already canned,” I say.
“Something new?” Cooper asks.
“I’m taking a temporary leave of absence from the senior meteorologist gig.”
“The Emmy you won isn’t enough? Is this one of those eat, pray, love soul-searching trips?” Nate asks. “I doubt whatever you’re looking for can be found in our Orlando suburb.”
“That Emmy is proudly displayed in my home office.”
“You probably polish it every morning.” Coop snickers, and I kick him again. “I bet you stare at your reflection in it.”
“Keep the compliments coming, Givens.” I lean back, an arm draped across the curve of the booth. “There’s no soul-searching happening. I’m just changing gears for the summer.”
“What does that mean? You’re rowing more? Going into traffic reporting instead of covering post-natural-disaster recovery?” Nate tilts his head. “Taking a class on humility and learning not to be vain?”
“Very funny. I’m actually here because I pitched a weather docuseries to the execs in New York.
They loved the idea of giving people something to watch that covers a prolonged period of time, and the primary focus is going to be highlighting hurricane season.
” I pause to clear my throat. “I’ll educate on the dangers of weather while also showcasing its beauty.
Any storm that makes its way to Florida, I’m going to be there reporting.
Interviewing the locals and showing the aftermath through extensive damage assessment. ”
“I like that.” Nate snorts. “Live from the eye, it’s America’s heartthrob, Sebastian Dunn.”
“This is the welcome home I was expecting,” I say. “You need to step up your game, Coop.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Cooper spins his baseball hat backward and covers his blond hair. There’s a faint red mark on his forehead where his helmet must’ve been sitting not too long ago. “The national nightly news. A new series. Is there anything you can’t do? It makes the rest of us look bad.”
“There are plenty of things I can’t do.” I shrug. “Can’t fold a fitted sheet to save my life.”
“We found the hero’s Achilles’ heel.”
“You know what they say. God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.” I cross my arms, grinning. “And I’m a warrior.”
Our server refills the coffeepot and takes our order after dropping off two extra mugs. There’s a scuffle over who gets the pink cup with white daisies printed on it. A rock, paper, scissors battle ensues until Nate wins and flips a middle finger Cooper’s way.
“I’m a first responder. I put my life on the line for people like you. I should get dibs on the mug I want,” Coop says. “Do you know how many injured bodies I pulled from a car accident last night while y’all slept? Five.”
“Way to make me feel like a guilty asshole.” Nate groans and shoves the plain mug across the table, swapping it out with the one decorated in flowers. “That’s not fair when all I bring to the table are scones and directions on how to make your own fertilizer. You’re a goddamn hero.”
“I love starting my day talking about fertilizer,” I say.
“So do I.” Nate stirs a clump of sugar into his coffee. “How long are you hanging around, Seb? All hurricane season?”
“Probably only until September or October. I doubt I can swing a six-month stay no matter how many awards I’ve won.”
“We need to keep you humble,” Cooper says. “Are you excited about the new gig? Change is good, right?”
I open my mouth, closing it just as quickly.
These two know everything about my life, but there’s something stopping me from blurting out the things I’ve been grappling with recently: The way I’ve felt stuck in my career.
How the last year has been a drag, every day longer than the last. The dread that sinks like a brick to the pit of my stomach when I get ready for work.
How do I tell them I’m afraid the job that once brought me joy is losing its spark?
How do I admit I’m floundering, treading water in the middle of the ocean without a life jacket? Burned-out, fucking exhausted, and looking for a sliver of enjoyment in the hell of corporate America where I don’t know how to do anything but talk about low-pressure systems and cold fronts?
I don’t want to mention the fake smile I’ve perfected. The deep ache that settles in my chest from missing something I love: the adrenaline rush I used to get when I was out in the field. The threat of danger around me.
The good ole days.
I might be traveling around the country and reporting on natural disasters after they happen, visiting a different town every month that’s been subjected to wildfires and landslides and tornadoes, but that doesn’t mean I’m having fun. It doesn’t mean I’m in the thick of things.
Not like I used to be.
Not like I want to be.
“I can’t wait,” I say, keeping my smile in place. Calm, cool, and collected. Classic Seb. Nothing fazes me. “It’ll be good to be back with the storms.”
“Poetic,” Nate says.
“He might be high.” Cooper digs into his plate of pancakes, attention elsewhere. “One never knows.”
The only high I’m getting is reliving my early meteorology days.
Storm chasing is an outlet. Something I’m good at, and I’ve been reminiscing lately.
Dreaming about my early twenties before I made it “big” when it was me, a pair of binoculars, a shitty laptop, and an open road.
Nothing but cumulonimbus clouds as far as I could see and a tornado siren in the distance.
Nostalgia has been eating at me for the better part of the year, and no matter how large my social media following is, it’ll never give me the rush storm chasing does.
Every day that passes, I feel more and more stagnant. Worried I won’t be able to pull myself out of this rut I’ve fallen into. I don’t know how to get back to loving what I do, and this docuseries is an attempt at figuring my shit out.
The people closest to me always knew what they wanted to do with their lives.
Mia, my younger sister, started writing stories when she was five with an imagination that never stops.
Cooper went to the firefighting academy right out of college, forever a servant leader with a big heart.
Nate didn’t bother with higher education, pivoting to open a pastry shop before he turned twenty.
Then there’s me.
Thirty-one and on the verge of a crisis while millions of people watch.
“Have you told Quincy you’re back?” Nate asks, and I blink, snapping back to reality.
Quincy Monroe.