Morning comes fartoo soon.
I reach for my phone with one hand while scrubbing a palm over my face with the other. A few taps on the screen and my exhaustion disappears as soon as I scan the latest Storm Prediction Center forecast.
Unsurprisingly, the group text is already active. Matt and Tracy ended up staying at this hotel last night too. For once I can’t even be mad that Matt is one of those obnoxious morning people who’s been up for two hours—he’s already found a coffee shop. There’s no mention of Wes joining, which hopefully means he ended up somewhere else.
Grinning to myself, I fly through getting ready in ten minutes. It’s a small thing, but I make a point of getting my coffee from local businesses whenever possible. These communities deserve to getsomethingback in exchange for hosting the small army of storm chasers rampaging through their towns every spring.
My good mood falters when I step into the lobby and find Wes holding court. He’s surrounded by a group of guys, some of the faces familiar, but most not. It’s nothing new. The combination of charm, money, good looks, and devil-may-care recklessness that surrounds him—and his social media presence—attracts attention anywhere he goes. The newer chasers idolize him and the risks he takes.
Wes has never been one to shy away from praise. Hopefully he’s too busy being admired to come to the coffee shop.
As I do my best to slip by unnoticed, someone tosses him an energy drink. He grabs it out of the air with ease, jabs a hole in the can with his keys, and proceeds to shotgun the whole thing in a couple of seconds. Raucous cheers go up from the group instantly, and judging by the scowl of the receptionist, I’m not the only one who finds a man in his early thirties behaving like this obnoxious.
“Morning, Sloane,” Wes calls across the lobby. He wipes his hand across his mouth and offers me a shit-eating grin. “Going to be a big day!”
“Sure is,” I call back with exaggerated brightness. “Try not to end up in a ditch again!”
Wes learned the hard way two seasons ago that speeding in reverse, only to yank the wheel to spin around on wet pavement, isn’t as easy as stunt drivers make it look. But rather than being insulted like a normal human, he laughs as I walk away.
I find the coffee shop easily enough. It’s a small space, and so new that the smell of fresh paint still lingers beneath the rich scents of brewing coffee and pastries. Tracy and Matt have claimed two of the overstuffed chairs in the corner, their camerabags tossed on a third. I flash them a quick smile before heading to the counter and scanning the quirky drink menu.
Onechocolate on the beachand a croissant later, I flop into a chair and take a giant bite of the enormous pastry. “You’re my favorite person today,” I tell Matt through a mouthful of flaky deliciousness.
He wrinkles his nose in mock disgust. “Swallow, then talk.”
“Not what you said last night.” Tracy lifts her coffee and takes a long sip as Matt flushes and I cackle.
“Anyway.” Matt lifts his iPad and turns it toward me. He points to a spot on the screen where the model playing on loop shows supercells popping up by two or three this afternoon. “We’re thinking this is today’s target. There’s another cluster to the south, but the dew points down that way look too low to do anything exciting. Up here”—he zooms in on the area and then swipes into a different app—“dew points are already in the sixties and climbing.”
I do a little shimmy in my seat. With highs forecasted in the upper eighties and clear skies in western Oklahoma, the heat of the day should set us up for a great afternoon.
We linger at the coffee shop for another couple of hours, catching up and occasionally double checking the forecast before hitting the road in high spirits. Wes, thankfully, texts to confirm he’s on his own today, sparing me from having to deal with him.
With my hair tucked into a hat to keep it from snarling hopelessly, I follow Tracy and Matt north, windows down, music blaring, and breathe in the sweet scents of wheat, dirt, and sunshine.
By the time we stop for lunch, the brilliant blue sky is dotted with small, puffy clouds. Heat broils me right along with the asphalt when I get out of the car and tip my head back, squinting even with my sunglasses. The wind out of the south toys with the fine hairs escaping my hat, and the air has that telltale feel to it, a low ache in my sinuses forming as the barometric pressure destabilizes.
Northerners will tell you that they can smell snow on the air—in tornado alley, we know when a storm is coming.
“Oh, how I missed good barbecue,” Matt moans as we step into the restaurant, woodsmoke and spices thick in the air. “I’m about to eat my weight in pulled pork.”
“Colorado Springs has great barbecue,” I remind him while eyeing the menu board. “You guys could move closer. Just saying.”
“Oryoucould move.” Tracy grins, all faux innocence when she adds, “I hear Houston is nice.”
“Oil refineries and swamp-like humidity? No thanks.”
She laughs. “Like you’d be seeing anything other than the inside of a certain high-rise condo.”
“Not this again,” I groan. “Wes isn’t into me. What you two call flirting is just Wes being Wes. He thinks his inflated opinion of himself is shared by everyone and just wants to preen.”
“That man looks at you the way I eye my nana’s Thanksgiving pies,” Tracy protests. “He’s into you. He’sbeeninto you.”
“No, he just hasn’t met a woman who isn’t instantly charmed by him.” I roll my eyes, grateful we’re next in line and this conversation is about to end. Especially since I never know how much Matt repeats back to the pain-in-my-ass topic ofdiscussion. “If I turned into one of thewhat big muscles you havefangirls, he’d lose interest in a heartbeat.”
Tracy and Matt exchange a look, but when Tracy opens her mouth, I hold up a hand to stop her. “And even if Weswasgenuinely into me, it wouldn’t matter. I’m not interested in getting tangled up in his circus. What Iaminterested in is just how much pulled pork I inhale in the next twenty minutes.”
Tracy laughs and gives me an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Sloane, I hate to break it to you, but if you’re looking for help with your meat, Wes is far more—”
