He nods once and climbs out of the truck.
The shift in him catches me off guard.
Gone is the awkward professor who blushes when I flirt with him or nearly chokes to death over a suggestive coffee comment. The second we step into storm territory, something in Jonah settles into place.
He moves around the truck with steady purpose, unloading equipment and checking instruments with a level of confidenceI haven’t seen from him outside meteorology. No second-guessing. No nervous energy. Just complete focus.
It’s…attractive. Annoyingly attractive.
There’s something deeply unfair about watching a man go from socially awkward academic to this quietly capable version of himself in under thirty seconds. Especially when he looks like that doing it—shirt sleeves rolled up against the heat, dark hair shifting in the strengthening wind while concentration sharpens his features.
I drag my attention away before my brain completely abandons the assignment.
Grabbing my primary camera and tripod, I move several yards from the truck where I’ll have a clean view of the approaching storm. The wind has picked up noticeably now, tugging strands of hair loose around my face as I secure the tripod legs against the increasingly aggressive gusts.
Behind me, I hear Jonah adjusting one of the portable sensors.
“No way,” he says suddenly.
I glance back toward him. “What?”
He’s staring at the sky now, eyes locked on the lowering cloud base in the distance with something dangerously close to awe written across his face.
“The inflow velocity,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Your positioning was exactly right.”
The excitement in his voice catches me off guard. Not because he’s impressed. Because he sounds genuinely happy to be here. Like somewhere between Oklahoma and Texas, this stopped being just research for him.
And for reasons I probably shouldn’t think about too hard, that matters to me.
“Pressure's dropping fast,” Jonah calls out, attention fixed on one of his instruments. “Faster than the model predicted.”
“Welcome to reality,” I shout back over the rising wind. “Where storms don't read textbooks.”
I adjust my camera settings, framing the massive supercell that's now fully developed on the horizon. Through the viewfinder, I can see the supercell's structure with clarity—the rotating mesocyclone, the crisp edges of the anvil, the wall cloud beginning to form. But something's missing from this vantage point.
“I need a better angle,” I mutter, lowering the camera. I jog back to the truck and pop the rear hatch, then crouch down and work loose the tie-downs securing a large hard-sided Pelican case beneath the rest of my gear.
“What’s that?” Jonah calls over, squinting against the wind.
I flip the latches and lift the lid. “Jonah, meet Stormy Daniels.” Nestled in custom-cut foam is my weather drone—matte white, carbon fiber propellers folded flat against her body, atmospheric sensors mounted along the undercarriage like a tiny fighter jet. I’ve put more miles on her than most cars.
“Did you just name your drone after a porn star?”
I nearly drop the drone on my foot. My head snaps up to find Jonah standing a few feet away, one eyebrow arched in a way that makes my face heat up immediately.
“What?” I stutter, caught completely off guard. “You know who Stormy Daniels is?”
The wind picks up, whipping my hair across my face as I stare at him in disbelief. The last person I expected to recognize the reference is Professor “I’ve-Only-Ever-Worn-Khakis” Reed.
Jonah shrugs, but there’s a slight pink tinge rising up his neck. “I do watch the news occasionally.”
“Occasionally?” I set the drone down carefully, giving him my full attention now. “The woman is a footnote in American political history, not exactly front page material anymore.”
“She was central to multiple Supreme Court cases regarding campaign finance.” His tone shifts into what I’ve come to recognize as his lecture voice. “Not to mention the broader implications for the First Amendment and defamation law.”
I cross my arms, not buying it for a second. “You’re telling me you know about Stormy Daniels from Supreme Court cases?”
“Well, that and—” He pauses, clears his throat. “I’m not a monk, Lila.”
