NINETEEN Sebastian
Quincy
I have a question for you.
How may I be of service?
I know it’s been a while since you did the news, but would you be interested in being back on camera? Like, in a starring role?
My, my, Monroe. It’s a little early in the day to be talking about kinks, but you can record me if that’s what you like.
I meant being on my show.
Are you serious?
Yeah. People loved having you on when I hurt my ankle, and the other times you’ve made an impromptu appearance have been some of my highest viewed content of all time.
The tropics are quiet. There’s no chance of rain this afternoon, and I thought we could do a rapid-fire “get to know a meteorologist” game or answer questions viewers might have. Things have been boring by myself. This could be—I can’t believe I’m typing this—fun.
Hell yeah. I’m in. What time do you want me there?
How about 8:30 so we can get set up?
Sounds good.
I have something to say now.
I’m afraid to hear it.
If you’re feeling bored by yourself, I know a way to remedy that. We said only one time but … being lonely isn’t fun.
Are you propositioning me, Dunn?
I was thinking more along the lines of friends with benefits.
You’re not serious.
Mull it over. You know where I am.
What if I have another friend with benefits lined up?
I’m better, and I’d really like for it to be me. I’d make it really fucking good for you, Quinny baby.
I climb the stairs to Quincy’s front door, ahead of schedule, but I stop on the top step. The wood is starting to rot in the center and the nails are coming loose. I squat and tap the plank with my knuckles, not liking how it feels under my hand.
Popping to my feet, I don’t have a chance to knock before the front door swings open. Quincy leans against the doorframe, her hands in the pockets of her shorts that are a detriment to my health.
Her tank top doesn’t do me any favors either.
“Why are you on the ground?” she asks.
“Your top step sucks. If a branch lands on it during a storm, it’ll go straight through.”
“I’ve been meaning to get it replaced, but I keep putting it off.” She steps back, welcoming me inside. “It’s on the list.”
“I’ll fix it for you next week,” I say.
“You will?”
“Sure.” I shut the door behind me and untie my shoes, setting them against the wall next to a pair of her sneakers. “How’s your morning?”
“Not bad.” Quincy walks down the hall, motioning for me to follow behind her. It’s a feat to not stare at her ass, and I should be rewarded for my chivalry. “I have something to show you.”
“I love surprises.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s a very feeble attempt to say thank you for what you did for me at our interview.
” She steps into the kitchen and points at the counter, a Styrofoam to-go container sitting out.
“You mentioned liking Bea’s Place on our drive to Waffle House, so I picked up an order of pancakes.
Okay, it’s more like one of every pancake.
I figured you’d have a few minutes to eat them before we got started, so I—”
“You bought some of my favorite food?”
“Well, yeah. Because you did something for me.”
“This is incredible.” I open the container and practically moan. “Wildly unnecessary but fucking incredible.”
“Here.” Her hip bumps mine when she reaches for a plate and hands it my way. A fork and knife are passed over next, and my mouth waters. “There’s plenty of syrup too.”
“Can’t wait to be on a sugar high when I talk about haboobs to all your followers.” I slice the stack of flapjacks into tiny pieces, stabbing them with my fork. “Want some? Or is there not enough ketchup for you?”
“I’m not a heathen. Ketchup doesn’t go on pancakes.” She steals my fork, sneaking a bite for herself. “Hell. Those are so good.”
“I dream about these when I’m in New York.” I shovel a large piece of blueberry pancake in my mouth. “Can we talk about the interview?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I probably know the answer to this, but I want to ask it anyway. Are you doing okay?”
“I’ve moved past it. Would it be rewarding to work at the NWS?
Of course. But if it doesn’t happen, my life isn’t over.
I spent last night figuring out the future of my show, and it has me excited.
I’m going to expand my coverage outside of hurricane season with a trip to the Northeast for a blizzard or two.
Out west for tornado season. I sent your friend Eli a message, and he told me his door is always open if I want to chase with him next spring.
At the end of the day, I have a job that I love.
That’s more than a lot of people can say.
” She winces and looks my way. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m over here bragging and you’re—”
“Still unsure about what I’m going to do next, flying by the seat of my pants, and the subject of my own Reddit forum after telling off that asshole?
” I grin. “Don’t apologize, Monroe. You’re lucky you have something you love to do, and you shouldn’t have to clamp down on your excitement because I’m around.
Everything is going to turn out exactly like it should. ”
“Can I ask you a question?” Quincy slides into the barstool to my left and points to the one on the right. I sit down, bringing the food with me like a raccoon hoarding a pile of trash.
“You know I’m an open book, Pres.”
“When did you decide you wanted a career in meteorology?” She takes my fork again, digging through the stack until she finds a sliver of chocolate chip. “Was there a light bulb moment where you knew it’s what you wanted to do?”
“Did you have a light bulb moment?”
“Yeah.” Quincy’s smile melts to nostalgic.
“When I was seven, a severe storm came through town. There was hail. High winds and lightning that lit up the whole sky. Our power went out, and I sat in front of the window in our living room like I always did when it rained. There was something about that night, though.” An embarrassed laugh.
A faint blush on her cheeks and the fork hovering in the air, caught in a daydream.
“I was mesmerized. The next morning, I dragged my mom to the library and checked out every book on weather I could find. After that, it became an obsession.”
Her answer is better than mine, and I hesitate.
How do I tell her I went into meteorology because she went into meteorology?
School was never my favorite thing growing up.
I liked sports and hanging out with my friends and having a good time.
My grades were always decent enough to scrape by academically, but when it came time for college, I panicked.
I had no direction, no idea of what I wanted to do. Not a damn thing interested me.
Declaring as a meteorology major started as a plan to mess with her our freshman year. I registered for the same classes and pretended to be interested in physical sciences and thermodynamics if it meant spending more time with her.
I always loved riling her up.
There was uncertainty in almost every part of my life, but Quincy was the same.
I didn’t account for the power she had—has—over me, though.
Things got messy.
I deviated from the path.
It became less about irritating her and more about being awestruck myself. I listened to a pretty girl throw out big, important words, and for the first time in my life, it felt like I was doing something that mattered.
I saw the way she smiled when she talked about wind and rain and weather patterns.
I had never been that happy about anything—ever—and I wanted some of that happiness for myself.
I’ve been lucky enough to catch a glimpse of it over the last two months, and fuck if her excitement about the mundane things isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world.
I fell in love with weather too. It happened fast, a fascination I dove into headfirst. There was freedom in the drives I took out to the middle of nowhere north Florida to watch flurries fall for the first time in decades. Excitement when a tornado touched down.
Maybe Quincy was the catalyst. Maybe it’s why when it rains in the city, I wonder if it’s raining wherever she is and hope she’s staying dry.
Maybe she’s the reason why I’m burned out.
Her joy is infectious, the fuel to the fire I’ve needed to kick-start my joy all over again, and without it, everything seems really fucking dull.
When she’s around, everything makes sense.
I’ve been looking for the cure, not knowing it’s been right in front of me all along.
“I don’t know.” I wipe a drop of syrup away from my mouth, stalling. “I put a list of majors UCF offered on a wall, closed my eyes, and picked one.”
“You’re so unserious.” She knocks my arm out of the way so she can have one last bite of pancake. “And we have a show to do.”
Her office is exactly how I remember it. The addition of a second chair and a microphone makes me grin. There are two glasses of water on the desk, the space cramped but something we can work with.
“One day I’d like to have someplace bigger.” She pulls out a chair and takes a seat, adjusting her fancy microphone. “It gets the job done for now.”
“Why am I so nervous?” I sit next to her, fanning my cheeks. “I’m on the news every night.”
“Is it because you have a fan club?” Her laugh is sunlight on your face after a long night of rain. My favorite sweatshirt she hasn’t returned, but I haven’t asked for. “My comment sections have been overrun by Sebastian Dunn groupies. You’re good at what you do.”
“That’s going down as the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Think we need to document the occasion.” I fish my phone from my pocket and pull up the camera. I move close, our cheeks almost smushed together. “Smile, Pres.”
“Not bad.” Quincy leans over and watches me post it to Instagram, a short caption under the photo: Talk weather to us. With an umbrella emoji after it. I make sure to tag her. “Hopefully your groupies don’t mind my appearance on your social media page.”