“Oh.” Quincy’s eyes widen in understanding. “That’s why you’re in town for the summer. It’s not just to film a docuseries.”
“No, it’s not. People see—” I let out a self-deprecating laugh. An ache presses on my chest, a bruise that won’t go away. “They see this version of me I’ve crafted and shared on social media.”
“The golden weather boy.”
“Exactly. It’s a caricature. When they meet me, they don’t want to know about my hopes and dreams. They want me to rap about high-pressure systems and noctilucent clouds and—have you ever seen a noctilucent cloud, Monroe? Those thin, wispy clouds that glow? Fucking gorgeous. Anyway.” I scrub a hand over my face. She smiles. It propels me forward. “No one eversees me. There’s Sebastian Dunn: weather chaser. Not many people care about Sebastian Dunn: ordinary guy who’s looking for some joy.”
“Does weather bring you joy?”
“It hasn’t for the longest time. But today? Today I saw a glimmer of that happiness I used to feel, and it gave me hope.” I groan. “Listen to me. I’m out here complaining about a job that pays the bills while people lost their roofs today. I need to get my priorities straight.”
“Everyone’s struggles don’t have to be equal. Just because you didn’t lose the roof on your house doesn’t mean what you’re feeling isn’t valid.” She drums her fingers on the table, considering. “I think … I think life is too short to do things that don’t bring you joy. And being burned-out is okay, but it’s not something you want to last for too long. Maybe … maybe you have to go through that period of beingstuck, of being miserable, to realize there are better things out there. How else would you know if what you’re doing is working unless you have to climb uphill to get it? Makes it more worth it in the end.”
“That”—this laugh is softer, more earnest—“is a very good point. Thanks for listening to me. Cooper and Nate don’t know I’ve been unhappy.”
“You should tell them.” Quincy tips her head, assessing me. I like having her attention. “They love you. All they want you to be is happy.”
“Yeah. I should.” I sip my coffee. “This pep talk helped. And for what it’s worth, I think you’d be phenomenal at the NWS.” I nudge her calf with my foot, hopeful when she finds out we’re going after the same role, she’ll understand why. “Badass bitch, remember?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” She smiles. “Thanks, Dunn.”
“Truth or Dare, Monroe?”
“Are we still playing this game?”
“I need to know all your weaknesses. And to lighten the mood.”
“Truth.”
“Let’s go back to our earlier conversation about dating and personal lives. Splitting the bill.”
“Oh, no. I’d rather not.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Come on. We went through a hurricane together! You’re required to tell me.”
“It was a Category 1.”
“Don’t care. Natural disaster rules apply. If you go through a severe weather event with someone, you’re required to reveal a secret. Go on, Monroe. Spill your guts.”
“Ugh. Fine.” Quincy sighs and drops her chin into the palm of her hand. “I’m not dating anyone. I’ve tried, but it never works out.When I tell people what I do for work, they either don’t believe me or ask if I’ve fucked anyone in the middle of a tornado.”
I choke on my coffee. Some gets on my chin, and I wipe it away with my thumb. “You’re not serious. What is it with you and storms that rotate?”
“I wish I was kidding.” She laughs. “I get blocked pretty quickly on the dating apps when I talk about the logistical nightmare it would be to have sex with someone in a ditch while what sounds like a train horn blares in the background.”
“Ambiance. Who needs smooth jazz when you can listen to the sky splitting in two and Mother Nature wreaking havoc on humanity? Definitely gets me off.”
“Please. I’ve seen the pictures of you in your tuxedos and the women posing on your arm. That one photo shoot you did forVoguehad a lot of fancy cuff links and shiny shoes. And you can’t forget the paparazzi snap shot of you with an unidentified blonde.” She clears her throat, shifting in her seat. “The women are always beautiful. You probably have a model in your bed every night, don’t you?”
“I knew you were obsessed with me, Quinny baby. Putting up pictures of my photo shoot in your room like I’m a nineties heartthrob? I’ll keep it a secret.” I smirk when she kicks my shin. “To answer your question about my sex life—”
“I amnotasking about your sex life.”
“The unidentified blonde woman was my friend, Rosie, asking for advice on a birthday gift for her wife. We had an argument over whether she should get Knicks or Nets tickets, and she finally decided on a New York Rangers game because her other half loves hockey. As for the models in my bed, your gossip websites are wrong. I told you I’m not dating half of New York, and that includes physical relationships. I haven’t been with anyone in months,” I say.
