A Chance for Sunny Skies (22 page)

"Thanks for being here. This place plus you equals perfect."

I closed my eyes and took it all in, too. I took in his cinnamony spiced Brian-smell, the smell of the grass in the field, and the trees surrounding us.

"So, how's the tournament going?" I asked. It wasn't like I was totally lost (I mean it's not very hard to tell if he did well; there's the target and all), but I had been so focused on him that I hadn't really watched anyone else.

Brian squinted. "Let's see if I can explain." Commence him saying a bunch of stuff that went right over my head and my hair (a feat in itself). Points, I got, but then he added in talk of zones, something called an arrow total, followed by a run total and I was kinda feeling wobbly again (from unfortunate info overload this time, which is much less fun than the sexy variety).

"Oh, all that...." I pressed my lips together and nodded.

Brian laughed. "I'm doing well, Sunny. That's all you need to know right now." He placed his arm around my shoulders and his hand landed softly on the back of my neck. He smooshed me to him and we walked over to the gathering tent for lunch.

I pulled my sleeves down and wrapped them around my fingers, hugging my legs up into my body and scooting just a few inches closer to the fire. The orange and yellow firelight crackled and flashed over everyone's faces as I watched the group-that-was-still-up-talking finish up with what they swore would be the last story before bed, for sure this time.

The beauty of it all - the smell of the logs baking in the coals of the pit, the leftovers from our barbecued dinner lingering in the small forest clearing, the cool earthy tones that seep into your nose once the sun goes down, and these shining, laughing people thriving in each other's company – was intoxicating.

The group erupted into another cacophony of laughter, the last for tonight. Each distinct sound of happiness quieting down was followed by a well-that's-it-for-me sound or gesture. Some slapped their hands down on their knees and stood up, a few sighed, others proclaimed, "That makes it a night." Everyone said goodnight and wandered off to their respective tents.

My heart fluttered happily. I had been waiting for this, for time alone with Brian. It's not that I didn't have tons of fun with his archery buddies. There was a light feeling hanging in my chest because of the fun I had today and the pride I felt toward myself at being social, being the person I wanted to become even without Rainy or Brian around all the time.

Watching him, seeing him with these people, hearing his deep-belly-laugh that I love so continuously all day, it made me ache to be with him. I don't even mean the way we were last night, not sexually (necessarily), but simply physically. I longed to touch him, to wrap my arms around those large shoulders, to listen to what those laughs sounded like with my head resting on his chest. I felt magnetic and he was one large hunk of metal.

He clapped a hand on Rich's back as they said good night and then he turned toward me. "Hey there, Sunny girl. Ready for some truck sleeping?"

I tipped my head to the side. "Why, Bri guy, as it turns out, I am." I held my hand out like royalty, closing my eyes and turning my chin while I waited for him to take it.

He did, but proceeded to maneuver my hand behind his back, grabbed the other one and swung me up onto his back like a little baby koala. I shrieked, muffling the loudness in his neck when I remembered everyone was bedding down. Still holding my hands in his, up by his shoulders, he turned his head side to side, kissing each of my hands and then started moving.

Old Sunny would've freaked at this point. Seriously. She would've been pulling at her shirt, feeling self conscious about how much she weighed, begging (in her head only, of course) to be put down. New Sunny? She loved it. She wrapped her legs around the front of him, pulled a hand free, and smacked Brian on the butt.

He trotted up the small incline from the gathering tent to our little campsite and then threw me over his shoulder, plopping me down onto the mattress already sitting in the bed of his red truck. I squeaked and giggled as he jumped on after me.

Sinking into the tops of the sleeping bags he’d laid out earlier, we wound ourselves together and I snuggled my head onto his chest. His fingers found my hair, twirling at the end pieces. In the quiet, where all I could hear (or wanted to hear) was the sound of his heart beating and the breath flowing in and out of his lungs, I scooped his hand in mine, twisting my fingers through his as we looked up at the stars.

The cream walls of the waiting area outside of Spencer's office weren't sensual (in the least), there was nothing inherently romantic about the uncomfortable gray chairs lining two of the walls, and the throat-clearing sound his secretary continued making could make anyone downright on-edge. Still. My thoughts while I waited for my interview that Monday morning were firmly planted in Swoon Central.

You probably aren't supposed to think about sex while you're waiting for an interview, but I was. It had been most of what I'd thought about the last few days (most of what I had been doing, too). Sure, we had gone to Brian's archery tournament on Saturday, but we left Sunday morning and the rest of the day was spent almost exclusively in my bedroom.

The first time had been great (by the way). I didn't have anything to compare it to other than movies and I'm sure it wasn't perfect, we were nervous, but we got a lot better the more we practiced. We were both quick learners and the curve was relatively short. (See, it's good to be a nerd.)

So that afternoon, when I sat waiting for them to call me in for my interview, highlights from that weekend kept sliding through my thoughts. Plus, thinking about that helped me take my mind off my surroundings, the dozen women who sat around me, the women who looked nothing like me. They all had perfectly quaffed, salon-modified heads of blond and brunette, nothing too frizzy or wild. Unlike me. They wore expensive skirt suits in various bright colors. All of them. Unlike me, sitting in my black A-line skirt and flowy cat-print blouse. They also looked confident as hell. Unlike me.

Speaking of hell, the room felt like my own personal version. A bunch of the girls seemed to know each other from other interviews. Right. Because they actually had practice at this, had been on multiple interviews, and most likely had degrees in journalism. Unlike me. They looked me up and down (I don't blame them, I did the same thing to them) and whispered to each other (okay, I didn't do that). Any time they giggled, I felt sure it was about me.

I wiped my hands on the cloth chair and looked up at the ceiling again. What had I been thinking? That just because I was the one Spencer had chosen to read the news on Friday, I was going to be his first choice for a full-time weather girl? Now that I looked back on it, the facts that I was breathing and in his line of sight were probably the biggest reasons he chose me.

At that moment, someone new joined the waiting room. We all looked up, me to see who else I would now have to compare myself to, and the girls to see who else they would now be able to make fun of. Neither of us were satisfied. Me, because I could never compare to her and the other girls because she looked perfect. She always had. Melanie Carter. Months of universe-led counseling, countless hours of putting myself in new situations, practice talking and putting myself out there, all of my hard work at getting over my social anxiety disorder seemed to melt out of my body in the form of sweat in approximately three seconds flat.

Melanie Carter. It took me a full few seconds to get over the flashes of that
Most likely to die alone
yearbook page and realize that I
wasn't
alone anymore, she had been wrong. That didn't mean that seeing her didn't still make me feel terribly small and self-conscious all over again.

She strutted in wearing a grey pencil skirt that looked like it was made just for her by Ralph Lauren, personally. Her structured jacket was a classic navy blue that complemented her blond hair, cut to perfection and framing her face. She had these big doe eyes that were expertly made up. It was all topped off by the perfect strand of pearls (my mother would have been proud). My face turned red, my eyes turned down to the floor out of high-school habit, and all I could think was shit, shit, shitty-shit. Really? Melanie Carter had to show up here? Now?

Sure, we all knew she was into modeling in high school (who couldn't when she posted her pictures on the outside of her locker), but I had no idea she was into science. Heck, I had chemistry with her and I don't remember her showing up for anything but test days. Looking around, I wondered if any of these girls cared much about meteorology and began to question my assumption that weathermen and women were the same thing as meteorologists.

I couldn't spend too long on that conundrum because Melanie spotted me. Her perfect eyebrows didn't fly up and her mouth never pursed to hide her smile like I pictured it would, though. Her brow furrowed and she kept looking away, then back at me like she didn't want me to notice.

She didn't recognize me.

Well, she must have sort of, but not enough to place who I was. Imagine that! My high school tormentor, the one who seemed to memorize my helmet hair-do because she always nailed it in the unflattering pictures she drew of me, the one who made sure she ran into me every day so she could get her hilarinsult du jour in, didn't realize it was me.

It was my turn to press my lips together trying to hide a smile. Anonymity felt amazing at that moment. I leaned back and let my shoulders relax.

Wait. I had given Spencer's assistant my name. She would call me by it when it was my turn. My shoulders stiffened again and my stomach felt achy and sour. Could I still leave? I decided that yes, I had to. I couldn't go in there and try to get a job on television while Melanie sat out here telling stories about my awkwardness and laughing with the other girls (the only logical thing that I could think of following her finding out it was me).

I stood up on shaky legs and tried to look more like I was smiling than about-to-barf. Melanie and the other girls watched me. I'm sure I was settling more than one bet in the room.

The door opened. "Sunny Skies."

I froze and let my eyelids drop in defeat. The gaggle of gorgeous girls erupted into whispers. Of the ones I could hear, the majority were pretty catty. "That has to be a fake name." "That's not fair." "Her hair can't be real. It totally looks like extensions." (Yeah, I was really tempted to slap that last bitch.)

I opened my eyes just in time to see Melanie's face morph from confusion to an evil, knowing look. She was probably telling herself that she knew it was me the whole time. She was probably formulating a new fake yearbook page in her mind. Least likely to get this job.

I wanted to cry, to sit on the ground and punch things while yelling, "This isn't fair!" Instead, I sighed, turned around and followed the assistant into Spencer's office, deciding that it was the less-weird of my two options (the other being running the crap out of there without looking back, which I didn't feel confident I could pull off in the shoes I was wearing). I could feel Melanie's eyes follow me the whole way in and even maybe a little through the door once it clicked shut.

Spencer leaned back in his chair, a huge smile on his face. I'm sure today was like hot-girl-viewing Christmas for the man. He sat up a little when he saw me and lost the sexier edges of the look he sported.

"Sunny." He nodded and motioned for me to sit.

I smoothed the back of my skirt all professional-lady-like and then half-fell-plopped into the chair because I wasn't used to the slight heel I wore. The thought that this could be my everyday wardrobe if I did get the job sent a new twist deep into my gut.

"So, caught the bug, did you?" He smiled and pulled out what I assumed to be my resume.

I nodded, but couldn't seem to formulate any words. Good thing I wasn't interviewing for a position in which the major requirement was public speaking and normal-ness. (Insert eye roll.) I leaned closer to the door, trying to listen for any signs of embarrassing anecdote telling or loud laughter. Hearing none, I turned my attention back to the man holding my whole past and future in his hands.

Spencer sighed and put the paper down as if what he saw there saddened him. It probably did. I had absolutely no qualifications to help me get this position. My unusual temp jobs, my unused psychology degree, all of it seemed to be working against me.

"Look, Sunny. I'm going to be honest with you."

I bit my lip, squinted, and looked at him sideways, ready for impact.

"You really aren't qualified for this job."

I cringed. Don't cry. He's letting you down easy.

"Usually we require a degree in meteorological science, or at least one in journalism." He put his hands up, like showing me the decision was out of them.

My lips were feeling tingly, my eyes hot and stinging. I nodded. I understood. It was stupid. I was stupid.

He shook his head. "That being said, our Friday numbers were through the roof. Our page got a ton of hits and while there were a few nasty comments that I won't burden you with, the people were overwhelmingly in love with you."

My breath caught in my throat, stopped by all of the disbelief crammed in there.

"What?" I croaked.

He raised his eyebrows and pinched his mouth to one side. "Yeah. People pretty much hated Jeannette apparently, and you were a burst of fresh air." He nodded to the door. "Every one of those girls out there is exactly like Jeannie and my viewers are going to hate any of them just as much."

My head felt like it was floating. I think I smiled, but I was confused as crap. He hadn't actually said I had the job.

"The thing is, I should follow protocol, but we're the only station in the valley, so I can pretty much do whatever I want. Hell, Ken doesn't even have his meteorology degree and he's our lead weather man. We get all of our forecasting from the local center anyway. Paul's the one who translates all of it into a script for the teleprompter."

I literally hadn't said a word but "what" the whole time. A tiny red flag came up when he mentioned the fact that Ken wasn't a meteorologist (like my vision had specified and like I had just been wondering about in the waiting room), but I figured I might be taking things too literally. Weather girl, meteorologist, good enough. Right? I let him continue to talk to himself since it seemed like he might be convincing himself more than me. He sat for a few seconds, squinting at the wall and tapping his fingers on his desk.

Finally, he said, "Fuck it" and stood up, his hand stretching toward me.

I clambered out of my chair and grabbed his hand, shaking it instead of shaking my head like I felt compelled to. I couldn't believe it. Even though "fuck it" hadn't exactly been the way I dreamt I would be offered the job, it was mine. I was a weather girl.

Spencer walked me to the door and asked if I could start this afternoon. I nodded yes before heading out. I held my head high and couldn't have hidden the smile on my face if I had tried. The girls all watched me, but I focused on Melanie. Her eyes went wide and her mouth pressed into a straight line of disappointment as she saw I was happy, not defeated as I'm sure she was expecting.

Spencer stuck his head out after me. "Sorry ladies, the position is filled." He tipped his chin up at a particularly busty blonde and retreated back into his office.

The atmosphere was thick with hate. Melanie and I locked eyes, but hers flicked down to my outfit and up to my hair as I walked by.

I almost missed it. I had seen that look before (never directed toward me until now). It was jealousy. She was looking at my outfit like maybe it wasn't bad and my hair like it was kinda great. Oh, and the fact that I had just gotten the job she wanted didn't hurt. Her lips parted slightly and her eyes narrowed at me, but I simply smiled back at her and gave a little wave over my shoulder.

Luckily the other woman were too stunned to say much and I was able to walk all the way out of there before the arguments started. I walked faster as they raised their voices and stamped around. Right away, I knew the first place I wanted to go was to tell Brian. I looked at the clock and realized it was close enough to lunch that I might even be able to snag some away-from-his-desk time with him. (Maybe we could even find a closet or somewhere we could be alone. I just got a job and wanted to celebrate.)

First, I stopped by the set and gave Burt the good news. He smiled, something I had started to read more from the way his rosy old-man cheeks pressed up and his eyes squinted into tiny half-moons rather than trying to locate his lips in all of the beard-mustache-ness of his lower face. He gave me a hug and I felt teary until I realized I'd still be working with him. Then I headed off to Brian's work.

The mirror-vator and I had gotten to be good pals and I was really appreciating the fact that I could check my hair and make sure I didn't have anything in my teeth at the same time I travelled up to meet my boyfriend (I still can't say that enough). When I arrived at Brian's desk, he was hunched over, rubbing his temple, and sighing forcefully enough to spin the heck out of a good-sized pinwheel.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and he turned around. I hadn't noticed he was on the phone since he had it tucked between his ear and shoulder, so when he looked up he smiled half-heartedly and put a finger up, asking me to wait until he finished.

"How long?" His voice was strained. Tired. I guess I didn't let him get that much sleep this weekend. I started to feel bad, feel responsible until he said, "You're going to stay?"

I sat on the edge of his desk and frowned.

He shook his head. "Well, that's great for you, but you know I can't. I'll have to figure something out. I'll let you know. Bye." He sighed again and put the phone back in its cradle.