And now it’s my turn to stare. The rolled sleeves show a stretch of forearm that leads to broad shoulders. The way he holds himself like he’s always braced for a question he’ll need to answer perfectly. Women with worse judgement than mine have made worse decisions for less.
“So why me?” I ask. “There are other storm chasers with research backgrounds who would kill for this kind of funding. People with actual doctorates.”
Dr. Reed takes a slow sip of his club soda. “Because they were taught to chase storms in a classroom. You weren’t.”
I blink at him. I’m not sure what surprises me more—that he values my lack of formal education or that he’s willing to admit it out loud. Most academics I’ve met spend half their time subtly reminding me I don’t belong in rooms like this. Jonah says it like experience matters more than credentials. Like I matter more than credentials.
And judging by the steady way he’s looking at me right now, he doesn’t even realize how rare that is.
I take a long pull from my second beer, letting the thought settle heavily in my chest.
Real funding. Real credit. And most importantly, the chance to improve warning systems that could actually save lives. The thing Dad gave everything to.
“It’s a real partnership, Ms. Brooks,” he says quietly. “Your expertise matters just as much as mine.”
Something in my expression must shift, because his gaze softens almost imperceptibly. And suddenly the air between us feels different again. Less teasing. Less sparring.
For one brief second, I have the bizarre urge to ask him what he looks like when he’s not exhausted. What his apartment looks like. Whether anyone remembers to take care of him while he’s busy trying to save everyone else. Which is an insane line of thought to have about a man I met less than an hour ago.
I’m about to answer when a voice slices through the moment like a knife.
“Well, this is cozy.”
Jonah’s entire posture changes instantly.
His shoulders straighten. His expression cools. The warmth disappears behind that composed academic mask so fast it gives me emotional whiplash.
Lucas appears beside us, clapping a hand onto Jonah’s shoulder. “I see you two have met.” His grin widens as he looks between us. “Isn’t she exactly what I told you she’d be?” He winks at me. “Fierce, brilliant, and beautiful.”
Heat rushes straight into my face.
“Lucas,” he cuts in sharply. “This isn’t the time.”
But Lucas barrels on, oblivious. “So? Has he convinced you yet? I told Jonah you’d be perfect for his project. The stuffy professor and the wild storm chaser—it’s like the beginning of a rom-com.”
He laughs and raises his glass in a mock toast.
Something in my stomach sinks.
Not because of the joke itself, but because suddenly the entire conversation feels different. Smaller somehow. Like all the seriousness of it—the research, the partnership, the respectI thought Jonah genuinely had for my work—just got reduced to chemistry and banter in a crowded bar.
I grip my beer bottle tighter.
Jonah says my name, but embarrassment is already burning hot under my skin.
Of course. Pretty storm chaser meets socially awkward professor while his TV weatherman friend plays matchmaker. I can already imagine the version of this story everyone else in the room is seeing.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, setting my beer down. “I need some air.”
“Lila, wait?—”
Jonah reaches toward me instinctively, fingers brushing my wrist for half a second before I pull away.
I’m already moving through the crowd toward the exit, boots striking hard against the polished floor. The night air hits me cool and sharp when I shove through the doors. I lean against the brick outside, breathing until the sting in my chest eases.
For a moment in there, I’d almost believed him.
A real partnership. Real credit. A chance to contribute to something that could actually save lives. And maybe Jonah meant every word he said. Maybe that’s what bothers me most. I’d have validation if this worked out. Proof that carrying on Dad’s work meant something beyond storm chasing clips and weather forums. Proof that I belonged in scientific conversations even without the degrees hanging on the wall.
