“You’re not...” I repeat, the implications hitting me like a lightning bolt. “Wait. Are you saying you watched her...films?”
Now the blush has spread to his ears. “I’m saying I’m aware of her existence beyond just the political scandal.”
“Oh my god.” I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me. “Professor Reed, did you just admit to watching adult films?”
“I didn’t admit to anything,” he says quickly, but he’s smiling now, that genuine smile that completely transforms his face. “I simply pointed out that I’m not completely isolated from mainstream culture.”
“Sure, sure.” I shake my head, grinning as I check the drone’s battery. “Next you’ll tell me you’ve seen ‘The Bachelor’ too.”
“Absolutely not. That’s where I draw the line.” A beat of silence. He drags a hand down his face while I laugh harder, and honestly, discovering how easy it is to fluster Jonah might become my favorite hobby. “I have to know. Why did you name your drone after a porn star?”
“She goes where others won't, gets the money shots, and makes powerful men nervous,” I reply with a wink. “Seems fitting.”
His face flushes as he processes my joke, but curiosity quickly overtakes his embarrassment. He approaches for a closer look as I lift the drone from its case.
“This gives me a bird's eye view of the tornado structure,” I explain, checking the battery levels and camera gimbal. “I canfly her right up to the edge of the circulation and get footage no ground camera could capture.”
“I'd love to see that footage,” Jonah says, stepping closer to examine the drone. His scientific curiosity is clearly piqued. “The perspective would be invaluable for validating vertical wind shear patterns.”
“It's even better than you think,” I reply, powering up the controller. “I've modified her with atmospheric sensors that transmit real-time data on temperature, pressure, and humidity at different altitudes.”
I check the radar one last time on my phone. The supercell is intensifying rapidly, its hook echo now clearly defined. Perfect conditions.
“Ready for launch,” I announce, setting the drone on the ground a safe distance away. With practiced movements, I initiate the takeoff sequence. Stormy's propellers whir to life, kicking up small dust clouds as she rises smoothly into the air.
I gesture for Jonah to come closer. “Here, you can watch the feed with me.”
He steps beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine as he leans in to see the controller screen. The contact is light—barely there—but my body notices it immediately anyway.
The wind whips across the open field, carrying the charged scent of rain and dirt and ozone, but all I’m suddenly aware of is Jonah beside me. The heat of him. The solid line of his arm against mine.
“Amazing,” he murmurs near my ear.
The low roughness in his voice sends a shiver down my spine that has absolutely nothing to do with the storm.
I swallow once and force myself to focus on the drone feed.
Above us, the supercell dominates the sky like something alive. From the drone’s perspective, the storm looks almost unreal—massive rotating structure layered in dark bands, thewall cloud tightening beneath it as inflow winds drag warm air upward.
“Look,” I say quietly. “It’s starting.”
Through the live feed, the rotation sharpens visibly. Faster. Tighter. The lowering wall cloud begins stretching downward in slow motion, tentative at first, like the storm itself is deciding whether to touch the ground.
“Incredible,” Jonah breathes.
His hand lands on the small of my back.
It’s light. Barely there. Just the flat of his palm settling against the curve above my waistband like it belongs there. The warmth of it bleeds through the thin cotton of my flannel and spreads across my skin in a wave that has no business being as good as it feels.
My brain stutters for half a second.
Then the drone feed does something terrifying.
“Jonah, look—” I say, and my voice comes out rougher than I intended. I don’t pull away from his hand. I should. I absolutely should. Instead, I shift my weight a fraction of an inch toward him because I am apparently allergic to making smart decisions around this man.
The wall cloud reaches lower. Lower. I feel the air pressure drop in my ears again, that deep pop-pop-pop like the world is swallowing itself.
“There,” Jonah says quietly, and his thumb moves once against my spine. Just once. Like he’s not entirely aware he’s doing it.
