Page 9 of Forecasting the Forward

Laughing, I drop the phone next to me on the couch, leaning my head back to rest on a cushion. That conversation was exactly what I needed. StickUM always has a way to make me laugh, helping me to look past my troubles ,and focus on the positives in life.

Thunder sighs heavily, and when I lift my head to look at him, I find his deep brown eyes staring intently at me. “You know, I bet StickUM has your energy in real life. I bet he’s the quintessential golden retriever. You’d probably like him more than me.”

As if recognizing my comment as a cry for help, he slowly gets up, ambling over to me, laying his head on my knees. When I scratch the edge of his snout, he attempts to lick me twice, as if to say he’d never choose someone else over me. Sliding down so he’s beside my feet, Thunder lets out a long exhale as he gets comfortable. I close my eyes and rest my head back again, thinking about what I can throw together for a quick meal before I pass out on the couch.

My alarm jars me awake.I immediately notice I have a sore neck, and I realize I never left my spot, sleeping in an upright position on my couch, with Thunder at my feet. It’s just after three in the morning, and I need to quickly get Thunder out and fed before I report to work. Two to three times a week, Thunder attends a doggie daycare, so I need extra time today to get him to that building … in the opposite direction from where I live and work.

Dressing in my standard outfit of workout leggings and an oversized t-shirt, I carefully roll up a dress and slide it into my backpack. About a year ago, I had a very scary experience with a homeless man who followed me, making lewd comments and threatening to harm me. According to him, I was “dressed like a slut,” and he’d make sure I’d “take what he wants to give me.” The clothing I was wearing happened to be a very modest dress, but fit my body snugly. I reported him to the police, and the station, and I never saw him again. As a precaution, however, I began dressing casually, then changing at work. This also allows me to wear sneakers in case I need to run from someone. As much as I love Thunder, he doesn’t think anyone is a stranger.

After dropping Thunder off at his doggie daycare, I start the trek back across town. Denver has a great train system from the suburbs into downtown, but in the area of the daycare, there are no nearby stations. Sometimes I’ll splurge on an Uber, but today I’m walking back. It’s a beautiful morning, and as the sky begins to lighten slightly, I take a deep breath of gratitude as I take in the scenery. Sometimes I can catch glimpses of the peaks of the Rocky Mountains, many west of Denver climbing to fourteen thousand feet. This morning, however, clouds dot the sky. A rare humidity is evident in the air, and I know we’re due for some thunderstorms this afternoon. If storms get going, as I assume they will, I’ll end up with another long day. I make a mental note to order lunch from my favorite Italian restaurant in town. If I’m going to have an exhausting day, I might as well enjoy some good food while I’m at it.

Two blocks from work, in the heart of downtown Denver, my eyes drift toward a figure stretching next to a large brick half-wall. Almost unconsciously, my hand finds my keyring, fingers wrapping around the small bottle of pepper spray I’ve carried since my college days. My steps slow as I wonder if I should make a run across the street, but one look at this man’s calvestell me he’d easily catch me if he wanted to. His stance is oddly familiar, as I take in the shorts, tank top, and cap-covered hair. When he removes the cap to run one hand through his tousled curls, I realize who it is a mere moment before he turns around. I’d question his motives, but even I recognize the surprise on his face. Does that mean he lives downtown like me?

“Well, well, well,” Jacob drawls, a beautiful smile covering his perfect face. “If it isn’t my favorite little Spitfire.”

“Favorite?” I ask. “You have more than one? You know what? Don’t answer that. I really don’t want to know.” I hurry past him, not surprised when he falls into step beside me.

“I wouldn’t say I have a ton of women who deserve the nickname. You’re definitely in a league of your own. Sure would help if I knew your first name so I could call you something else, darlin’,” he says, and when I look out of the corner of my eye at him, he winks. I stifle a laugh.

“It’s too early for you to be this happy,” I murmur, keeping my voice even-keeled.

“Life is too short to worry about stupid shit, Spitfire. It’s a beautiful day. Hockey season is about to ramp back up. Going up to Red Rocks for a concert this afternoon with my buddies. Not much to be that unhappy about.”

“Watch it today. There’s a forecast for storms,” I say absentmindedly.

“Really? Huh,” he muses. “I don’t really pay attention to the weather. They’re never right anyway.”

“Excuse me?” I shout, my hackles rising. OfcourseJacob would inaccurately judge meteorologists. “We’re right often, you jerk. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to forecast the weather? We’re trying to predict the future, and if a storm way out in the Pacific Ocean deviates even fifty miles, it changes everything. Then you add in the mountains and the PalmerDivide, and it’s like dropping a penny from one hundred feet above a bullseye and hoping it hits somewhere on the target.”

Jacob stops, staring at me incredulously. His eyes light up as he snaps his fingers. “That’s where I recognize you from! You’re that weather girl. Becca something or other.”

I growl at him. Legitimately growl. “I am not a weather girl, asshole. I’m a certified meteorologist. Chief meteorologist, to be exact. I actually studied in college, which is probably more than I can say for you.”

He lifts his eyebrows in challenge. “You think so?”

I shrug. “Probably. You sports guys are all the same. Coasting by because you happen to hit a puck well.”

He smiles proudly. “So you do know who I am.”

“I work in news. Yes, I know who you are.” Realizing I stopped when he did, I continue on. “I have to get to work.”

“Why this early? Not a good time for a lady to be roaming around by herself,” Jacob comments.

“It’s either this shift or the evening shift. I prefer this one.”

“You got a concealed carry permit?”

“What? Why?”

“Gotta protect yourself, Spitfire.”

I shiver. The thought of carrying a gun makes me queasy. It’s why I have pepper spray, and why I’ve taken more than one self-defense course. Even my keychain has a pointy end where, if all else is lost, I can channel my inner prisoner and shank someone. “I can protect myself.”

Jacob hums noncommittally. “Good to know. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

As he jogs away, I stop walking. He’ll see me tomorrow morning? What the hell does that even mean?

The following morning,already planning a new route to walk in hopes of avoiding Jacob, I stop dead in my tracks when I find him standing in front of my building, a gleeful grin on his face. Stubble covers his chin, but his perfect white teeth gleam under the baseball cap pulled tightly across his forehead. I can’t help but wonder if his teeth are real. Aren’t most hockey players missing at least one tooth? His look too perfect to be real.

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