Page 88 of Stolen Hearts
Party pooper.
Paul is meant to be the killjoy on my team. He’s the one who always says no, not Rob.
Another lightning bolt lights up the sky, and the tornado seems to be shrinking in size. It’s no longer a cone, but is now shaped more like a funnel. Droplets of rain start to fall, slowly at first, and then picking up rapidly into a downpour. A succession of three lightning strikes shows the tornado fading away, and a fourth reveals that it’s completely disappeared.
My heart deflates like a balloon.
“Damn. I thought we’d have longer to see it.”
“But you got to see it.” Christopher turns to me. His face is dripping wet from the rain. “What did you say to me downstairs?How many people do you know who’ve gotten to see a tornado in real life? Well, now you can tell everyone you have.”
Ugh!
I hate it when other people are right.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here before that rain turns into hailstones,” Rob shouts over the wind and rain as he kicks the brick away and holds open the door.
“You should have seen it. It was massive.”
“That’s what he said,” Erica says, sitting across from me in the hotel restaurant. She nods at Christopher, who is standing by the exit. She cuts the last of her French toast, smothered in maple syrup with a scattering of sliced strawberries on top, neatly in half with her knife. “I can’t believe you went outside and watched it.”
“I’ve already inquired with a few companies about going on a tornado-chasing tour next year. Apparently, there’s one with a guy called Eric from Tornadic Expeditions that gets right up close to them. The Finger of God tour, he calls it.”
I grab the Tabasco sauce and pour the last drops from the bottle onto the remainder of my chicken and spinach omelet.
“You really are an adrenaline junkie,” Erica laughs and shakes her head, reaching for her napkin to wipe a drop of maple syrup from her bottom lip.
She’s not wrong. I barely slept a wink all night. I made Christopher stay up to watch both theTwisterandTwistersfilms and researched the best time of year to chase tornadoes and where to chase them from. All of the tours seemed to be booked up for next year, but I’m hoping a spot will open up on one of them, especially on Eric’s tour. Christopher reluctantly agreed to join if there was a space for a third alongside me and Rob.
Just before we headed down to breakfast, Christopher hadturned on the news. The full scale of the damage was clear to see in the daylight. One of the reporters, walking through the destruction in a small neighborhood, showed roofs ripped off buildings, houses flattened, and cars upside down. A trampoline hung from a tree. It was all so bleakly real.
“You ready to get going, chicken wing?” Rob slaps me on the back with such force that I can feel the last bite of the omelet come back up from my stomach.
“Let me just get the bill.” I wave down the waiter as I slide into my jacket.
The rest of the team is already exiting the restaurant and heading out to the car.
“Already sorted,” Rob says. He ushers me and Erica to the door and into the first of two cars waiting outside for us.
“Is that from the hailstones?” I point at the windshield as I lean forward in my seat. The crack is the size of a baseball.
“Afraid so. Tried to get it replaced this morning before picking you up, but the garage is already backed up till Sunday.” The driver looks back at me from the rearview mirror.
He rubs his mustache with his thumb and finger before adjusting his sunglasses. The sky is a clear blue outside, the complete opposite of what it looked like just a few hours ago.
Less than ten minutes later, we pull up outside Brewed. A small gathering of fans greets me as I step out. Christopher and the Brewed team get out from the other car and head inside along with Paul, Connie, and Erica, while Rob and Lucy keep watch over me as I sign items and pose for selfies.
Once inside, Connie immediately pulls me over toward the stairs. Paul quickly follows as Caryn, Chloe, Christopher, and Pedro console one of the Brewed staff by the counter.
“Apparently one of the staff members lost their parents in the tornado.” Connie’s voice lowers as people stare at us from the various tables scattered around the room. “We feel it would be inbad taste to do any content today for the campaign when people here are dealing with the aftermath of the tornado.”
My shoulders slump as Lucy brings me over an iced Americano.
I’d already mentally resigned myself to today being a write-off. The message from the very brazen, very toxic mom this morning, telling me that she wouldn’t be able to make it from Amarillo, had dampened my mood. Apparently, freeway closures in Oklahoma made it impossible for her to get here. Christopher had cleverly recommended doing a stitched together video instead, to still take advantage of the trend, which somewhat softened the blow.
“Can I go over and speak to the staff member? See if there’s anything we can do?” I take off my leather jacket and throw it over the chair on the table behind us.
“Yes, but be warned, she’s quite hysterical.” Connie pulls off her sunglasses to reveal an unamused expression.
