After the barista left, Parker pulled out his phone and started taking notes. "So we start gentle messaging today. 'Monitor the forecast, make sure you have supplies.' Tomorrow we escalate to 'Finalize your preparations, know your evacuation routes.' By Wednesday we're in full coverage mode."
"That's... ummm… perfect." I was pleased that he'd absorbed my approach so quickly. "You've done this before?"
"I covered two hurricanes at my last station. They were smaller markets, but the principles are the same." He looked up from his phone. "Keep people informed without terrifying them. Give them actionable steps. Make sure they know we're watching out for them."
My wolf preened at the idea of Parker and I watching out for people together, which was absurd. We were colleagues doing our jobs, though my beast kept telling me we were more than that and Parker's scent was making it increasingly difficult to remember we were coworkers.
"I'll need graphics updated every three hours once we hit Wednesday." I pulled up my checklist. "Real-time radar, storm surge predictions, and rainfall totals. The full package."
"Done. I already talked to Isla about clearing the schedule." Parker's coffee arrived, and he wrapped both hands around the cup. "We'll go live every hour with updates once the storm is within twelve hours. I want you on camera with me for all of them."
"Are you sure?"
"It's necessary." His tone was gentle but firm. "People trust you, Dawson. When you tell them something is serious, they believe it. I need you there to give the information weight."
I wanted to argue, but the way he was looking at me made the words stick in my throat. It was as if he genuinely valued my expertise and he saw me as more than just the grumpy meteorologist who complicated his segments.
"Fine. But I'm not doing any of that cheerful banter while we're in emergency coverage."
"I wouldn't ask you to." He smiled, and it was warmer and more intimate than his on-air expression. "I know the difference between regular programming and crisis coverage. I'm not going to make jokes while people are evacuating their homes."
Of course he wasn't. I kept forgetting that underneath all that sunshine, Parker Fleetwood was competent. He was good at his job in ways that had nothing to do with his charisma.
"The overnight models shifted the track about forty miles east." I pulled up the comparison. "If that trend continues, we might dodge the worst of it. But we can't count on that."
"Better to over-prepare."
"Exactly."
We fell into a comfortable rhythm, going over scenarios and timing and messaging strategies. Parker asked intelligent questions. He pushed back when he thought I was being tootechnical and offered suggestions that made sense. At some point, I stopped thinking of him as the annoyingly cheerful host who cut off my forecasts and started seeing him as what he actually was.
A partner.
My wolf liked that term far too much and I told him to stop being warm and gooey about our coworker.
"What made you get into meteorology?" Parker's question caught me off guard. We'd moved past the storm coverage discussion, and were just talking. "You're so passionate about it."
"I like systems that make sense." I wrapped my hands around my fresh coffee cup. "Weather follows patterns and rules. If you understand the science, you can predict outcomes. It's reliable."
"Unlike people?"
The observation was too accurate. "People are complicated."
"So is weather." His smile was teasing. "All those models you showed me have different predictions. The atmosphere doesn't always follow the rules."
"It follows physical laws—air pressure, temperature gradients, moisture content—all of it predictable. The math doesn't lie."
"But the interpretation can be subjective." He leaned forward. "You said yourself we won't know the exact track until it's almost here. Sometimes you have to make decisions with incomplete information."
He'd made a frustrating, insightful point that had me wonder what else I'd misjudged about Parker Fleetwood.
"What about you?" I asked, then immediately regretted it. This was supposed to be a work meeting, not a personal conversation. "Why television?"
But Parker didn't seem to mind the question. "I like helping people. Sounds cheesy, I know. But there's something satisfyingabout taking complex information and making it accessible. I enjoy being the person viewers trust to start their day." He paused and his expression changed. "Plus, it gave me an excuse to leave my last city and make a fresh start."
There was a story there as his smile didn't reach his eyes.
We'd finished our coffee, but neither of us had made a move to leave. The café was still nearly empty, our corner feeling separate from the rest of the world. Parker had one hand wrapped around his empty mug, and I found myself watching the way his fingers curved against the ceramic.
