Weather Girl(48)

“They’re going to show up this time.” It’s a free dinner cruise. Who could say no to that?”

I readjust my coat, because one thing I’ve learned lately is that wearing a coat and a sling is a complicated endeavor. You can either wear the sling over your shirt and drape the coat across one shoulder, or you can get dressed like normal and do up the sling over your coat. I’ve gone for option number one, which means I have to keep tugging up my coat so it doesn’t fall down. It’s very fashion forward. Very chic.

A man who appears to be in his early thirties approaches us, wearing a vest that indicates he works for the cruise company. “Hi there, I’m the captain,” he says. “You two are on our Moonlit Magic cruise this evening? Mr. and Mrs. Hale?”

I hold in a laugh. “They’re our bosses. They should be here any minute.”

His smile reveals a rather lovely dimple. “Great. We’re thrilled to have you here. This is going to be a really special night for all of you.” He motions to my sling, smile drooping. “What happened there?”

“Fought a pigeon when it tried to steal my lunch.”

“Ouch.”

“You should see the pigeon.”

He pauses for a moment, scrutinizing me. “I swear this isn’t a line,” he says, “but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you before.”

“I’m a meteorologist for KSEA 6. I’m usually on weekday mornings.”

“Yes! That’s it,” he says with a snap of his fingers. “I don’t always watch very religiously, but I usually have it on in the background. And now I’m regretting saying anything, because it makes it sound like I don’t value what you do at all. Ari Abrams, right?”

“I’m flattered. Really,” I say.

“Craig,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet a passive fan.”

He’s still grinning at me, and I’m not at all used to this. Russell checks something on his phone, then cranes his neck to see if the Hales are headed our way.

“Ari Abrams of KSEA 6,” Craig continues, “do you think I could get your number? Assuming, of course, that I get all of you back to land in one piece?”

“Oh—okay?” I’m so thrown by this whole interaction that it comes out like a question. I’m not used to men being this forward. I dig for a more positive answer. “Sure. Of course.”

Russell is determinedly not looking at either of us right now, and maybe it’s my imagination that his shoulders stiffen.

This doesn’t have to be awkward. I force myself to look on that bright side everyone assumes I live on. I keep telling myself that maybe I’ll figure out how to date this year. This could be how it starts.

Craig types out a text as I recite my number, and then my phone buzzes with a message containing a waving hand and a boat emoji.

I’m so struck by this unexpected boost to my self-esteem that I’m startled when Russell calls out, “Seth!”

“Sorry I’m a little late. Thanks again for doing this.” He’s holding a succulent, one in a cute patterned pot that looks like it was expensive, based on what I know from my greenhouse trip last month.

Torrance shows up a few minutes later, looking elegant as always in an ankle-length black coat with a faux fur collar, and when Seth presents the succulent to her, she turns nearly the shade of her signature lipstick.

I can’t help wondering if both of them being late is some sign they’re meant to be together or if it’s as simple as neither of them wanting to be the first one here.

Craig guides all of us toward the ramp that will take us to the boat, a small but sleek white yacht with the name Seas the Day. Russell and I fall in step behind the Hales, but halfway up the ramp, he comes to a dramatic stop.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah, I—I’m sorry. I just get . . . a little seasick sometimes.”

Torrance whirls around, a breeze sifting through her glossy curls. “Seasick?”

Russell holds up a hand. “It’s really no big deal. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” With that, he doubles over, clutching his stomach.

It’s such a performance that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

“Look, Russ, if you need to sit this one out, that’s okay,” Seth says. “We’d hate for you to be stuck if you’re not feeling well.”

“And the wind speeds are the highest they’ve been all week. It’s supposed to reach thirty miles per hour tonight,” Torrance adds. “Water might be rocky.”

Russell continues to milk it with a long, shaky breath, and when he glances at me, I half expect to catch him wink. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. That’s probably for the best.”

“I’d hate for you to miss out,” I say, stepping into my role: convincing them we don’t want to leave before making the assessment that Russell’s too sick to take himself home.

“He’s looking a little pale.” Torrance sounds concerned. “Do you want to make sure he gets home okay, Abrams?”

It’s a miracle I don’t bite through my lower lip entirely—because I was going to suggest the exact same thing. Either Torrance cares deeply about Russell, or she’s realized this means an opportunity to soak up all that Moonlit Magic with Seth. Alone.