“Your dog’s a gentleman,” she murmurs against my skin, her voice growing fainter as sleep reclaims her.
“Our dog, and he’s figuring it out just like we are,” I agree, running my fingers through her tangled curls.
She goes quiet for a few minutes, so quiet that I wonder if she’s fallen back asleep.
“Jonah?”
“Yeah?” I respond.
“What happens tomorrow?”
The question hits me like a bucket of cold water. What happens tomorrow?
The weight of what she’s really asking hits me all at once. She thinks I’m leaving— now that I’ve gotten my data and completed my research, I’ll pack up and head back to my sterile lab and windowless office. Back to my old life.
I shift to look at her face, seeing the vulnerability there that she tries so hard to hide. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” She hesitates, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. “The grant. The research. You got what you came for. Clean data on a storm that gave you everything you needed.”
Understanding washes over me. Of course she’d think this was temporary—that I was just here for the research. Everyoneelse in her life has left or been taken from her. Why would I be any different?
“Lila,” I say softly, tilting her chin up so she has to meet my eyes. “Do you really think I’m going back to grading papers and faculty meetings after this? After you?”
“Your life is there,” she says simply. “Your career, your students, your everything.”
I can’t help but laugh, the sound surprising both of us. “My life? My life was sitting in a lab staring at simulations while the real world happened outside my window. My life was faculty politics and grant applications and publishing papers that five people read. That’s not a life.” I cup her face with my hand, needing her to understand. “This—you, Max, the road, the storms—this is living.”
She watches me, her expression cautious but softening. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to go back to that existence. Not when I’ve found something real.” I trace my thumb along her cheekbone. “Not when I’ve found you.”
“You’d give up your tenure track position? Your lab? Everything you’ve worked for?” Disbelief colors her voice.
I consider this for a moment. The truth is, I’ve been thinking about it since that first tornado nearly killed us—how empty my life felt before, how alive I’ve been since meeting her.
“I wouldn’t be giving up anything worth keeping,” I tell her honestly.
“So you want to chase with me full time?” There’s a hint of a smile now, though she’s trying to hide it.
“Why not? I’ve already survived two direct hits. I think I’m getting pretty good at this storm chasing thing.”
She laughs then, the sound warming me from the inside out. “Marginally at best, but I’ll let it slide. You’re new to this.”
I pull her closer, careful of her shoulder. “So you’re saying I need more practice?”
“Years of it,” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice that makes my heart skip. “Decades, even.”
The weight of what she’s implying settles between us. Not just tomorrow or next week, but years. A future together that stretches beyond this motel room, beyond this chase. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
“I think I can handle that,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She’s quiet for a long moment, her breathing steady against my chest. Just when I think she might have drifted off to sleep again, she speaks.
“I’m scared, Jonah.”
The admission, so quietly spoken, catches me off guard.
“Of what?” I ask, though I think I already know.
