Page 24 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

Chapter twenty

Molly

W aiting on a hurricane really is like stalking a turtle.

That’s the phrase Dennis Jackson, a popular local meteorologist, uses.

Dennis and I have become good friends over the last two days.

Well not like real friends, but I’ve watched all his broadcasts, read all his social media posts, and pored over every map and track he’s shared about Hurricane Hernando.

I think Dennis must be living at the Channel Nine headquarters this week.

Even though the changes to the track forecasts have been minimal and Hernando is creeping along at just ten miles per hour, Dennis is up on the screen, giving live updates every couple of hours and posting to his public social media accounts with details in between on-camera appearances. Does the man even sleep?

If not, I’m right there with him. I’m slamming down coffee and Dr. Pepper as I check and recheck the coordinates for the gliders against each shift in the forecasted storm track.

I’m planning to have each of the three gliders take a slightly different path, hoping we’ll get data from the center and the edges of the storm as it passes through.

Jonathan’s been busy prepping the gliders.

Gah. That man. I’ve returned home each night this week to a new note stuck to my refrigerator.

Three days, three notes, each one sweeter than the last. He’s not only running full force on my research project right now, he’s also finding the time to melt my heart.

He must really believe I’m worth all this effort.

I’m waiting at my apartment now for him to pick me up to drive to Slidell and head out on the water with the gliders. In the meantime, I’m sitting on my couch with a laptop propped up on the coffee table, watching Dennis’s latest live-streamed forecast.

“Remember, everyone, today is the day to finish all your preparations. Make sure you’re stocked up on nonperishable food and clean water.

Charge your devices in case we lose power.

Bring any loose items from the yard inside.

If you’re evacuating from any of our lower-lying areas, remember you don’t need to go far.

We’re expecting Hernando to make landfall as a Category 1, which is definitely not something to ignore, but there’s no need to panic, either.

One of our best rules of thumb for these storms as you’re deciding whether to evacuate or ride it out is: run from water, hide from wind.

If you’re in an area that floods easily, which is a lot of us here in Orleans Parish, consider going to higher ground at a friend or relative’s house, or at one of the public emergency shelters set up in the area. ”

The rotund Black man in a bow tie has such a soothing voice, yet it’s authoritative at the same time.

No wonder I, and most of the rest of New Orleans, consider him the person to listen to in a potential weather emergency.

He’s famous for his reassuring hurricane “rules” that counsel residents to be prepared and alert in the face of a forecasted hurricane, but also not to get sucked into the hype.

His most quoted rule is: “Don’t panic until I tell you to panic. ”

He’s not telling anyone to panic now, though he would probably advise Jonathan and me against going boating today. I peek out the back window. So far, the day is bright and sunny and will likely remain that way for hours yet. We’ll be fine.

Jonathan texts that he’s parked downstairs, so I grab my bag and kiss the top of Beaker’s furry little head.

After ensuring I have the key and locking my door, I walk down the stairs to the front entrance.

Before I open the door, I take a deep breath to fortify myself against what’s bound to be a long, awkward ride out to Slidell.

The truck’s parked at the curb. I open the passenger side door and slide into the front seat. Without meaning to, I inhale the now-familiar smell of Jonathan and his truck. The clean smell, mixed with hints of cinnamon and citrus, instantly makes me feel comfortable and safe. I’ve missed this.

Jonathan is on the phone with Dr. Gantt, her voice projecting into the cab through the speakers. “And no major changes to the forecast?”

He glances at me, so I answer. “Hi, Dr. Gantt. I’ve been religiously tracking the forecast, and all the models are in agreement about Hernando’s path and intensity.”

“Okay. That sounds fine, then. But you always have an out today, okay? Your lives are more important than the research. If it feels unsafe at any point, you turn back. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan and I reply in unison.

“Alright, then. Be safe out there.”

We say goodbye and Jonathan disconnects the call. He smiles at me nervously before pulling out onto the road and driving toward I-10, but at least it’s a smile.

We’ve been en route less than ten minutes when my phone pings, and I see a notification from the National Weather Service.

“Hernando is officially a hurricane now,” I announce.

Jonathan drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Already?”

“Yeah.” I study my phone. “No changes to the track or forecasted intensity at landfall. We’re officially under a hurricane warning. It’s kind of exciting and nerve wracking. I’ve never experienced a hurricane before.”

Jonathan raises his eyebrows. “How have you never been through a hurricane before?” he asks. “As long as you’ve been in New Orleans.”

We’re doing small talk. This is fine. I can handle this. I shrug. “If any ever got close, I just went to visit my parents for a few days.”

He keeps his face forward, but his disbelief is evident in his voice. “But you grew up in Texas.”

“I grew up in Austin,” I clarify. “Not much major hurricane action there.”

“What about tornadoes?”

I remember that Jonathan’s favorite movie is Twister and wonder if he’s been thinking about that these last few days. Not that hurricanes and tornadoes are very similar. “It’s not a real hot spot for those either.”

“Hmm,” he hums.

We both fall silent again. I yawn, trying to ward off the soothing effects of the truck’s motion.

I anticipated the awkwardness. How could it not be?

We have so much we could say to each other, so much we’re not saying, but also, we need to focus on the task at hand.

This could be huge for both our careers, not to mention Dr. Gantt’s reputation.

It’s best to push our personal drama to the side for today.

“Why don’t you believe love is for you?” Jonathan asks suddenly, his eyes on the road.

I heave out a loud sigh. I’m too tired for this conversation. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Yeah, I think we should talk about this now,” he answers, his tone indicating that it’s not up for debate.

My stomach flutters. Why do I find him so hot when he’s stern and bossy? I’m not sure, but maybe it’s why I answer him instead of deflecting. “It’s just … I’m not what you would call a catch. I’m messy, disorganized, forgetful—”

He interrupts me. “First of all, I would definitely call you a catch. Second of all, you are creative, bold, empathetic—”

“Okay, I get it. You think I’m wonderful. For now.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve just had years of practice controlling the variables in my life because it helps me stay on track.”

“No distractions,” he supplies.

“Right. Plus, I don’t want anyone feeling obligated to take care of me when my life is a mess, which it often can be.”

“So instead, you’re living half a life.” His jaw ticks, and he squeezes the steering wheel.

My shoulders tense, and I fold my arms across my chest. “When I first told you about my ADHD, and you lectured me, it was none of your business. Why do you think it’s any of your business now?”

“Maybe it’s not!” he snaps back. “Maybe it’s none of my business.

But I can’t just sit back and watch…” he trails off, his voice cracking.

He swallows and starts again in a gentler voice.

“Molly, I care about you. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and it kills me, literally keeps me up at night knowing that you don’t realize how amazing you are.

That you’re punishing yourself for having a brain that works a little differently instead of embracing who you are and enjoying the things that make you happy. ”

Warmth fills my whole body. I blink back tears, rubbing my gritty eyes. Before I can stop them, the words, “Like you?” slip softly out of my mouth.

Jonathan darts his eyes over to the passenger seat. “ Do I make you happy?”

“Of course you do,” I whisper. I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. They’re so heavy all of a sudden.

“I’m glad. I love when you smile.”

I drift off, snoozing the last twenty minutes of the drive, and waking up again only when the truck pulls to a stop in the parking garage at the marina.

I look around, tossing my head to feel more alert. We’re the only vehicle in the garage. I hop out of the truck and follow Jonathan toward the office.

“They should have the Pulse ready for us,” Jonathan says, “I called ahead, and they know we’re coming.”

He makes no mention of our conversation in the truck before I fell asleep, so I don’t bring it up, either.

Jonathan smiles and shakes hands with a man in a polo shirt with the marina’s logo on it. The man points us toward where he has the Pulse out of storage and waiting for us. “Are you sure you want to go out today?” he asks.

“We’ll be fine,” Jonathan answers. “We actually need some data about the storm, so we have to do this ahead of Hernando.”

“Okay. I’m the only one here today. I’ll wait until you get back so I can put the boat back up for you.”

“Appreciate it, man.” Jonathan shakes his hand again.

We walk down the dock to our boat. Three gliders are strapped onto plywood pallets, taking up most of the space on the back deck.

The platforms are about two feet high, bringing the tops of the gliders even with my waist. Behind the gliders is the door leading to the enclosed control area where Jonathan will pilot the boat.

Jonathan checks all the instruments and whatever else needs to be checked. Like last time, he leads me through the safety procedures, reminding me where to find flares, life vests, and other equipment.

Before we set off, I check my phone for one last Hernando update while we’re still in range of cell towers. I read the latest post from Dennis…. Well, that’s not good.

“Jonathan.”

He finishes punching coordinates into the GPS and lifts his head to look at me. “Yeah?”

“Hernando has almost tripled in speed since this morning. The track and intensity are the same, but now they’re saying landfall tonight, not tomorrow night.”

“So, when will we start seeing the outer bands?”

I peer up at the sky—the sunshine has started to make way for clouds, though none yet indicating a storm on the way. “This afternoon.”

Jonathan breathes out forcefully. “Alright. That complicates things.”

I study his expression carefully. “What should we do?” I doubt this expedition is still in the range of what Dr. Gantt would consider “safe,” but scrapping it now would be disappointing.

Jonathan shrugs, watching me as deliberately as I’m watching him. We’re each waiting for the other to show what they’re thinking. “It’s your call. This is your project.”

I debate sharing my thoughts. Finally, I admit, “I don’t want the responsibility of this decision to be mine alone. You’ll be out there, too. Please. What do you think?”

Jonathan nods. “I think it will be more dangerous. I also know I can pilot the Pulse even through bad weather. Collecting these data would be huge. We’ve come this far, so … let’s do it.”

I smile. “It’s what Bill and Jo would do, right?”

He bursts out laughing. “Absolutely. For science.”

“For science,” I agree.