I shake it, noting the firm grip. “You’re the one who was writing a novel during my presentation.”
His mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smile he doesn’t know how to fully use. His gaze lingers, studying me with an intensity that makes me shift. He is taller than I expected. Enough so that I have to tip my head back a little–easily over six feet–with broad shoulders stretching beneath a crisp button-down rolled neatly to his forearms. The sleeves pull tight when he crosses his arms, revealing lean muscle that definitely didn’t come from lifting weights. More like hauling equipment. Darkhair brushes the tops of his ears in messy waves that look accidental until you notice the rest of him is painfully put together.
“Notes,” he corrects.
“Most people doodle tornadoes.”
“I’d like to talk through your methods in more detail.”
Ah. There it is. Another lab rat who wants to mine my brain for free insights so they can publish something with their name slapped across the top while I am out risking my life. I almost sigh out loud, but I stop myself before it happens.
I lean back against the bar, and take another long sip of my beer. “Look, Dr. Reed, I've had a long day explaining myself to people who think they understand what I do. So unless you're buying the next round, I'm not really in the mood for shop talk right now.”
His eyebrows lift, but to his credit, he doesn't look offended. Instead, he turns to the bartender. “Another of whatever she's having, please. And a club soda with lime for me.”
Well, that's unexpected. I take another swig of my beer while he pays.
“Club soda?” I ask. “Odd choice when there’s an open bar.”
“I’m driving. Plus, I don’t particularly enjoy alcohol.”
I stare at him. “You get less fun every time you speak. You realize that, right?”
That almost-smile appears again. It changes his whole face when it happens. It makes him look more human and less robotic. Unfortunately, it’s attractive, which greatly annoys me.
“I should apologize for my colleague,” he says, nodding toward where Lucas stands across the room, already surrounded by admirers. “Lucas likes to press buttons.”
“You think?” I snort. “That's what TV weather personalities do.”
The bartender slides another beer toward me. I accept it with a nod of thanks, though I haven't finished my first.
“I know that you’ve spent the last hour talking about your science mission, but do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Dr. Reed says, picking up his club soda, “I'm interested in your multiple vortex formation research. I believe it could be integral to some work I'm pursuing.” He takes a sip of his club soda, watching me over the rim. “Specifically, I've developed algorithms that might predict the conditions for those formations before they occur.”
I narrow my gaze. “Predictive modeling for multiple vortices? That’s been the meteorological white whale for decades.”
“Yes.”
The confidence in the single world should probably irritate me more, but instead, it sparks something curious low in my stomach. Most researchers either oversell their work or hide behind cautious academic hedging. Jonah Reed says impossible things like he’s already halfway to solving them.
“That's a pretty massive claim to make.”
“It’s a hypothesis,” he corrects himself automatically. “One that I am very close to proving. Hence my interest in your observational data.” He taps his notebook. “Your data patterns line up remarkably well with my framework.”
Despite my exhaustion and irritation, curiosity pushes through. “What kind of algorithms? Pressure differential analysis? Or something based on rotation intensity?”
“Both, actually, with additional variables for temperature gradients and wind shear at multiple altitudes.” His expression shifts, lit with genuine enthusiasm. “I’ve built a three-dimensional model that pulls in real-time data from ground stations, weather balloons, and satellite imagery.”
I hate to admit it, but I'm intrigued. Most lab-based models I've encountered are too simplified to capture the reality I witness in the field. But the way he describes his approach suggests a complexity that might actually reflect what happens inside a supercell.
“Sounds impressive on paper, but theoretical models are only as good as their field validation.”
“That’s why I wanted to speak with you.” He leans forward. “I have a proposal that might interest you.”
“You want to work with me?”
“Yes.” Yep, still irritating the second time he says it like it’s already a foregone conclusion that I will agree to his proposal.
“And what does this partnership look like in practice?” I ask, skeptical. “You sitting in a lab while I'm out dodging flying cow parts?”
