“Fantastic. I considered renting a long-term Airbnb, but he hasthe space and offered. We haven’t been roommates since we were twenty years old and rented a shitty bungalow in Orlando.”
“Talk about an upgrade. The place he’s in is nice, isn’t it? That swing that hangs from the tree in the front yard is cute. So is the vegetable garden out back,” I say. “Homey.”
“I thought it would be weird being down the hall from him again. We’re in our thirties, you know? Half the people we went to high school with are on their second kid. But I get lonely sometimes. So does he. Long shifts at the station. Seeing the shit he does. It’s nice to be there when he walks in after a rough night on duty.” Sebastian points to my table. “You don’t realize how much you miss a night at the bar with your friends until you live in a city that makes you feel insignificant and replaceable.”
I follow his line of sight, not surprised to find his friends have moved over to join mine. Nate is showing Harlow something on his phone. Cooper is comfortable next to Mia. He nods every few seconds, unbothered while she tells a long-winded story. I smile, glad for the family I’ve built.
“Not possible when you’re here. You’reSebastian Dunn.”
“Find a way to add that emphasis on my headstone, will ya?”
“Only if I can includeridiculously obnoxious and not at all good-lookingunder it.” I turn back toward the bar, smiling at a bartender. “Do you have any ketchup?”
“Let me check.” She reaches behind the counter, frowning when she holds up a nearly empty bottle. “Sorry. Looks like that’s all that’s left.”
“No worries. That’ll work. Thank you.” I take the bottle from her and face Sebastian. “You’re like a boulder, Dunn. Can I sneak past you?”
“Of course. But while I have you …” He trails off, digging into the pocket of his shorts. He opens his palm. “Here.”
I stare at the center of his hand then up at his face after looking at the ketchup packets he’s holding for a beat. “I’m confused.”
“When we were at Waffle House, you mentioned putting ketchup on some of your food. Figured we’d be seeing a lot of each other over the next couple of months, so I stocked up. You never know when the bar will be out of ketchup.”
“You … you brought ketchup packets for me?” My vision turns hazy at the edges, realization settling in. “Why?”
“Seems like a good condiment to have nearby.”
“That’s …” My fingers itch to take the half-dozen packets from him, and I reach forward, hesitant. Doing everything I can to avoid the deliberate thrumming of my heart as it trips and sputters over itself. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Want some help carrying all of this back to the table?”
The table.
As if we arrived together, a normal occurrence we do every week.
“Sure. Yeah. That would be nice,” I say.
Sebastian takes Harlow’s glass and the basket of fries, weaving through the crowd and back to our friends. He drops in the seat next to Nate and steals a fry, popping it in his mouth while I squeeze the ketchup he brought me so tightly, it might burst.
“You good, Sebby?” Nate asks him.
“No.” His eyes meet mine from across the table. His mouth quirks, and the thrumming is back, a distracting, undefinable thing. “I’m great.”
I fix my tie then frown at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
A month and a half off the air, and I’ve forgotten how to make myself look presentable for an important meeting. There’s no makeup team or stylist telling me what clothes to wear. My skin is tanner. I’ve been living in hats, T-shirts, and jeans that are frayed at the bottom. My hair keeps turning messy from the Florida humidity, and trying something new ten minutes before my interview is slated to start wasn’t my greatest idea.
I look like one of those guys with a trust fund, and I give up when a rogue lock I brush away from my forehead falls right back where it came from.
“Decent enough,” I say, striding down the hall to the lobby.
I got to the National Weather Service early, wanting to get a read on the other candidates after Danny sent over an official interview request. I scan the room, noticing most of the people sitting in the leather chairs are familiar to me.
There’s Josh Collins, a meteorologist at WPTR in Orlando, flipping through a stack of notecards. Bryant Dennings, a professor at UCF, is reviewing a notepad resting on his thigh. I’m surprised to see Steven Sheehan, a longtime Weather Channel employee, standing near the door in a navy-blue suit, but I hear they’re going through budget cuts. No one’s job is safe these days, and I wonder if I’m an idiot to give up a sure thing just because I’m going through a rough patch at work.
My eyes flick over to the only woman in the room, and I stop in my tracks.
Long legs crossed at the ankles. A white pencil skirt that goes past her knees and hugs her thighs. Black high heels and a light blue blazer that matches the sky outside. I’m already grinning as I head her way.
