“Love. Spoiler alert: the couple winds up together in the end.” Harlow boos, but Mia sighs wistfully in the way she always does when she talks about romance and everything that comes with it.
Her devotion has led to threeNew York Timesbestselling novels and a fiancé she’s been waiting years for.
She’s happy with her white picket fence and monogrammed hand towels. Matching sweaters for a Christmas card that goes out every holiday season with her husband-to-be, Richard, and her future kids’ names written in a journal where she jots down all her creative ideas.
And I’m overjoyed for her.
Being loved is all she’s ever wanted. An achingly sensitive soul who puts so muchgoodinto the world, Mia deserves what has found its way to her. Her life is every book’s epilogue. The bittersweet answer to the question of,where do you see yourself in ten years?
Settled.
Content.
Further along than me, the people pleaser too attached to her work to find someone interesting for more than a few minutes, and Harlow, the woman so against relationships, she’d be fine dying alone.
“Sounds awful.” Harlow hands Mia a glass of Chardonnay, having memorized our orders when she first opened The Hideout. “I can’t wait for the day you surprise us with a gruesome murder in one of your books.”
“That’ll be my cry for help. The sign I’m being held against my will.” Mia glances my way. “What’s new with you?”
“It’s been a busy day for Quin,” Harlow says.
“I guess it has been.” I smile. “I told Harlow all of this earlier when she accosted me with party hats, and now I get to share it with you. Do you want the big news or the small news first?”
“Small,” Mia says. “I like to keep my expectations low and get progressively more excited.”
“I hit a million followers on Instagram,” I say, and her mouth pops open.
“A million? Oh my god, Quin. Congratulations! That is so many people who turn to you for weather news!”
“I’m sure half of them are bots and people who sleep in their mom’s basements, but—”
“Don’t you dare diminish this.” Mia grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. “You know damn well they’re there for you. You’re the best in the business.”
“I had no clue so many people found wind shear interesting.” I laugh. “The next piece of news is more impulsive.”
“Impulsive?” She touches my hair. “Not bangs or a nose ring.”
“I applied to the National Weather Service.”
Mia shrieks. Her glass of wine nearly tips over, and she throws her arms around my neck. There’s a fierce hug. Curly blonde hair that winds up in my mouth and a loud cheer. I smile at her enthusiasm, grateful to have people in my corner who support me when I’m chasing one of my biggest dreams.
“Holy shit.You did it!” She pulls back, letting out a squeal. “Tell us everything. Catch me up. What’s the position?”
“Science and Operations Officer,” I say.
“Explain what that means for us nonindustry folks?” Harlow asks, taking a break from making a rum and coke for one of her regulars at the end of the bar to join our conversation.
“I’d need to be up-to-date on science technologies that are provided to the public and meteorologists. I’d make sure theoffice is trained on weather and forecasting features.” I laugh, Mia’s excitement infectious. “It’s important, lifesaving work that also includes filling in as a forecaster if needed. I’d be the top research position at the Melbourne field office over on the east coast of Florida.”
“So official. I know you love your show, and this seems like it could be an extension of that love. Being with the NWS—wow, I feel so cool saying that abbreviation.” Mia claps and reaches for her wine. “It would let you do what you love with a bigger platform, right? Maybe? You know I’m better with words than with science. Government agencies sound pretty legit.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re perfect at both. Working at the NWS would let me be more involved at the state and federal levels as far as researching and decision-making goes. I could make an impact with data collection and integrating new and evolving science. Studying how to prolong the demise of society at the hands of our climate is important.” I pause for a breath, the root of why I’m trying something new coming to the surface. “Doing it as a woman is even more important. It would be nice to prove the people who reduce my job to the title ofweather influencerwrong. A large part of the internet thinks all I do is take photos of sunsets, not educate on natural disasters,” I tell them. “I wouldn’t give up my show, just scale it back. Merge the two platforms. I’m not saying I can change the world, but it’s a step in that direction.”
“If anyone can change the world, it would be you. You’re incredible, Quin.” Mia sniffs and takes my hand again. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I did when you decided to start a social media show about weather: How hard can it be? Boys do it.”
“Boysdodo it, but I can do it better.” I grin. “Thank you for cheering me on.”
“That’s our girl,” Harlow calls out. A guy at the end of the barwho looks more drunk than proud lifts a glass our way, but I accept the well wishes anyway. “She’s a trailblazer, ladies and gentlemen.”
