The air was thick with tension and ozone.
Scott Miller adjusted his jacket collar, eyes locked on the Tornado Wranglers across the field. Their chaos was loud—drones buzzing, gear scattered, laughter echoing. His own team was focused, calculated. The Wranglers looked like they were prepping for a rodeo.
And then there was you.
Laughing at something a teammate said, tablet in hand, already tracking wind speeds like it was second nature. Wind tugged at your hair, dirt streaking your cheek like war paint. Casual. Confident.
Scott clenched his jaw. Of course you were already locked in.
Not just the Wranglers’ face—their brain. The one who made algorithms look cool in muddy boots. The one who somehow always stole the spotlight.
And worse, you noticed him.
You didn’t throw jabs like the others. You smiled. Asked for his opinion on wind shear like it mattered. Like he mattered. And every time, it messed with his head.
The storm hit harder than forecasted. What began as scattered cells spiraled into a violent low-pressure system tearing southeast. Comms dropped. Roads flooded. Visibility vanished.
Scott’s SUV skidded to a halt near an abandoned produce stand as wind and hail swallowed the highway. Then another truck screeched to a stop beside him.
You jumped out first.
Soaked, breathless, eyes wide with urgency. “Old barn north of here! Only shelter nearby—move or we’re toast!”
He hesitated. No team behind you. Just you—wild, certain.
“Scott!” you shouted. “Now!”
He cursed and bolted after you.
The barn groaned under the wind, but it held. You collapsed onto an overturned crate, drenched and shivering. Rain pounded the roof like war drums.
“You’re calm for someone about to get flattened,” Scott said.
You huffed a laugh. “Midwest in July. If I panicked every time the sky got mean, I’d be a wreck.”
He shot you a sidelong glance. “You always joke like this when you’re stuck with the enemy?”
Your smile dipped. “enemy...?”
He blinked.
“I know what your uncle’s company is. But you? You care. I’ve seen it. You’re not chasing headlines—you’re chasing answers.”
He looked away. “Still can’t beat you to the data.”
You nudged his knee with your boot. “It’s not a race.”
“You’re smarter than me,” he said quietly.
You stared. “What?”
“You read the sky like a book. People listen to you.”
Silence.
“Is that why you always glare at me?” you asked.
He exhaled. “Maybe.”
“I never wanted to be your rival.”
“I didn’t want one either.”
You studied him. “I tried to include you. Asked your input, shared readings. I hoped if I kept reaching out, you’d stop seeing me as the threat.”
Scott stared at the dirt floor.
“You always kept your distance,” you added softly. “Made it a fight I never asked for.”
He stood, pacing. “I didn’t know what to do with you.”
You tilted your head. “Try not competing. Just once.”
Scott stopped. Looked at you.
“And then what?” he asked.