“Think about it! Your proposal is solid on theory but weak on field application. The review committee specifically mentioned wanting more real-world testing.” He taps the table excitedly. “What if instead of just running simulations in your lab, you partnered with someone who's already out there collecting the exact data you need?”
“You can’t be serious.” I set my fork down. “My research requires thoroughly collected data. Not someone who drives straight into tornado paths to rescue cats.”
“And people,” Lucas corrects. “The cat was in a carrier.”
“That's not the point.”
“The point is that your grant needs real-world validation, and she has access to environments you can only dream about from your climate-controlled office.” Lucas leans back, crossing his arms with the smug expression of someone who thinks they've just solved world hunger. “Plus, she knows what she's doing. Her father literally wrote the textbook we studied in grad school.”
“I'm aware of Frank Brooks' contributions to meteorology.” I push my tray away, appetite gone. “But there's a difference between respecting someone's work and betting my entire research funding on a collaboration with a storm chaser I've never met.”
“Look,” Lucas says, lowering his voice and leaning closer. “I wasn't going to mention this part, but she's also, well, incredibly attractive.”
“Really? That's your selling point?”
“I'm just saying.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “You've been cooped up in that lab for what, four years since Claire left? A couple weeks on the road with someone who isn't a computer model or a graduate student might do you good.” He winks. “If you catch my drift.”
“I catch it, and I'm throwing it back.” I crumple my napkin and toss it onto my tray.
“All I'm saying is that she's brilliant, fearless, and yes, easy on the eyes. The complete package.” Lucas holds up his hands defensively. “And you're brilliant too, just in a different way. Your theoretical models paired with her practical experience could revolutionize tornado prediction. Think about it—you could literally save lives and make some badass storm nerd babies together.”
I hate that he's making sense. Well, on the collaboration part. Not the babies. The review committee's feedback on my last proposal was painfully clear. Three years of work, dismissedbecause I couldn't prove my algorithms worked outside of simulations.
“Even if I wanted to collaborate—and I'm not saying I do—what makes you think she'd be interested? You said it yourself, she told you to shove your microphone where the sun doesn't shine.”
“She might have told me to get lost, but you're different,” Lucas says. “You speak her language. The real science, not TV soundbites.”
“I speak the language of theoretical meteorology and computational modeling,” I correct him. “She speaks the language of field observation and trying not to die in the process. Those aren't necessarily compatible.”
“They're complementary,” Lucas counters. “Like peanut butter and jelly. Alone, they're fine. Together? Magic.”
I can't help but smile at his ridiculous analogy. “You're comparing groundbreaking meteorological research to a sandwich.”
“A delicious sandwich that could save lives and secure your funding.” He pulls out his phone. “Just watch this footage before you dismiss the idea completely.”
He slides his phone across the table, and I reluctantly press play. The video shows a massive supercell with rotation patterns that make my scientific heart skip a beat. The camera work is steady despite the obvious high winds, focusing on exactly the features I would want to document.
“This is...” I trail off, rewinding to watch a particular cloud formation again.
“Exactly what your research needs?” Lucas finishes, looking smug.
I hate to admit it, but he might be right. The university's tenure committee wouldn't care about storm chasing videos, but they would care about a breakthrough in predictive modeling ofsevere weather events. And if Lila Brooks could provide the field data I need…
“You're overthinking it,” Lucas says, reading my expression. “Just meet her. One conversation. If it's a disaster, blame me.”
“Where would I even find her?” I ask, already knowing I'll regret this.
Lucas grins triumphantly. “She's in town right now, actually. Giving a talk at the Meteorological Society meeting tonight.”
“Tonight?” I blink at him. “The one I specifically told you I couldn't attend because I have to finish grading sixty-three undergraduate papers on atmospheric pressure systems?”
“The very same!” Lucas claps his hands together. “Fate, my friend. The universe conspiring to save you from a night of mind-numbing grading.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “The universe isn't conspiring to do anything. And those papers need to be returned tomorrow.”
“Papers that will be graded with the same level of attention whether you do them tonight or at 5 AM after you've met a potential research partner who could revolutionize your work.” Lucas checks his watch. “Her talk starts at seven. I'll pick you up at six-thirty.”
“I didn't agree to this,” I protest, but it's weak, and we both know it.
