Page 44 of Weather Girl

“Okay,” he agrees, pushing out his chair. “I’m just. Uh. Going to open that door before anyone gets the wrong idea.”

And that settles it. Whatever I thought he might have felt in my hotel room—there’s no trace of it today.

“Right.” Now I can’t look at him, either. “I’d hate for that to happen.”

•••

THE GOAL IS to re-create Torrance and Seth’s first date. Apparently, Russell and Seth had as much of a heart-to-heart in the sauna as Torrance and I did. About twenty years ago, when they were still working in Olympia, Seth drove her down to Seattle one July evening for a dinner cruise around Lake Washington. There was a specially curated menu, one that combined his Japanese heritage with her Scottish, and even though the captain told them it was unlikely to spot a whale on one of these cruises, they did—a majestic orca lifting a fin out of the water as if to say hello.

We lucked out with a Groupon and booked a dinner cruise for the four of us, telling them it was a thank-you for the retreat, and that I’d felt especially bad I hadn’t been able to stay. The whale is, unfortunately, beyond our control. Before the boat takes off, one of us will fake an excuse, thus leaving them alone in a deeply romantic setting, if the photos on the website are to be believed.

For the most part, yesterday’s heaviness has lifted, and I’m relieved seeing my mom didn’t sink me deeper. It’s impossible to know how long those moods are going to last or whether they require moving up a therapy appointment.

“I’m getting déjà vu,” Russell says as we wait on a dock downtown. In the summer, this area is so packed with tourists, I avoid it completely, but it’s empty in February. The water is choppy, the wind toying with the ends of his hair. Russell in a knitted scarf: a sight I could get used to.

“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.

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