“Already?” Quincy perks up. Color seeps back to her face. It always does when she talks about the things she loves, and she loves weather more than anyone I’ve ever met. “It just became a tropical depression yesterday.”
“Things move fast this time of year.”
“What are they suggesting for landfall? South Florida?”
“Most likely. That cold front coming across the country isn’t going to let it get scooped into the Caribbean, and that’s a good thing. Hottest water temperatures on record mean whatever does brew down there is going to turn into a monster.”
“Hottest water temperatures on record, and it’s only July. Think of what August and September will bring.”
“I’m afraid to. But fuck climate change, right?”
“I’m starting to wonder if they’re teaching conspiracy theories in school instead of geometry. How else do you explain the rise in comments on my social media that claim the government is creating storms in the middle of the ocean?”
“Oh.” I’m trying not to smile, but it’s impossible. “You didn’t hear? It’s the microwaves, Monroe. They’re brainwashing all of us.”
Quincy’s laugh is subtle, a noise she tries to disguise as a cough, but I hear it loud and clear.
“We’re so fucked, aren’t we?” she asks.
“Completely, so we might as well enjoy the impending downfall of society. Truth or Dare, Pres?”
“Do we have to play this while we dangle thousands of feet above the ground?”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“Truth, I guess.”
“Good choice.” I move my arm, draping it over the back of the metal seat. I inadvertently brush my fingers against her ponytail and pull my hand away before she can notice. “How many times are you going to check the models for Claudia when you get home? I’m predicting seven times for me.”
Quincy’s eyelashes flutter closed then open. A real laugh tumbles out of her, and I’m the proudest motherfucker in the world because of it. It makes me want to buy a confetti cannon. To track down some streamers and noisemakers so I can put this moment in the goddamn history books.
July eighth: The night I made Quincy Monroe laugh.
I’d do just about anything to hear it again.
“That’s it?” she scoffs. “I’ll be upwards of eleven times. Fifteen, maybe.”
“The NHC is going to think you’re stalking them.”
“Maybe I am.” She stretches out her legs, feet swinging back and forth. The car rocks with her. Her grip on the dinosaur loosens. We’re making progress, and I roll with it. “Are you covering it for whatever it is you’re working on? Is it reality television? Wanted: arrogant storm chaser is looking for a wife.”
“Sounds like a good name for a dating show.” I snort. “And what I’m working on is a docuseries that’s probably going to be shit, but at least it gets me out of the office and into the fresh air.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I thought we were playing Truth or Dare. Scared, Dunn?”
Fucking terrified,actually.Not even my best friends have seen this side of me.
“All right, fine. I’ll spill my guts to you, Monroe. Stop begging.”
“You’re obnoxious.” Her knee nudges mine. Presses into my bare skin and holds. It’s like I’m being shocked with a live wire. “I don’t want to know.”
“I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s been nice to have a change of scenery. This project is less rigid. It gives me more freedom to explore things that are important to me.” I stare out at the horizon. Lightning flashes in the distance, and I smile. There must be a storm rolling in. They always make me introspective. “It keeps things interesting when everything starts to feel monotonous.”
“A change of scenery isn’t a bad thing.”
