Page 134

Tatum scoffs. “Obviously.”

“Exactly,” I call toward the kitchen. “I want queso.”

Scout pauses with a piece of popcorn halfway to her mouth. “You literally just said you don’t have room.”

“Queso is basically liquid. There’s always room for it.” I steal another piece of popcorn from her bowl and pop it into my mouth.

Andie grimaces. “No.”

I finish chewing and lift one shoulder. “It makes sense scientifically.”

Andie turns her head and gives me a long, flat look. “You cannot just put the word scientifically in a sentence and think that makes it true.”

I shrug a shoulder. “Says you.”

Scout snorts and yanks the popcorn bowl away when I reach for another handful.

The doorbell rings before I can steal it back.

I plant one hand on the couch and start levering myself up, but by the time I get both feet under me, Andie has already unfolded herself from the other end and is halfway to the door.

“I can get it,” I say.

“I know.”

“Then why are you⁠—”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

I glare at the back of her head and sink into the couch again while she opens the door. She’s not wrong.

Trace is standing on my porch with a backpack slung over one shoulder and his laptop tucked under his arm.

I hadn’t realized how hard I was gripping the edge of the couch until my fingers finally relax.

“Oh, thank god, Trace,” I say, and I mean it enough that his eyebrows shoot up.

Then a huge grin takes over his face. “Oh, Jenny’s gonna be so fucking pissed when he hears how excited you were to see me.”

I laugh and settle back against the pillow. “You’re the only person here who can tell me what half the shit on the TV actually means.”

He grins as he steps inside, kicks his shoes off by the door, and drops his backpack beside the chair next to me before plopping down. “Yep, I speak weather nerd.”

Trace balances his laptop across his thighs before flipping it open.

I shift forward on the couch and lean toward him, trying to get a look at the screen. “Wait. What can you see on that that’s different than the Weather Channel?”

“I can pull up the recon data coming off the plane.” He starts typing, his easy grin fading as he focuses. “Position, wind, pressure. Enough to follow what they’re doing once they get closer to Ruth. Shit the Weather Channel deems too boring to share.”

Andie shuts the door and comes over to stop beside his chair so she can see the screen too.

“Can you tell exactly where they are?” I ask.

“Pretty close.”

The page loads, and my excitement about having our own personal weather nerd takes an immediate nosedive.

The screen is covered in rows of numbers, abbreviations, and letters that mean nothing to me.