Chase Me If You Can(102)
“The Thunder Rolls”—Garth Brooks “Ride the Lightning”—Metallica “Hurricane”—Panic! At the Disco “Thunder”—Imagine Dragons
“Calm Before the Storm”—Fall Out Boy “Ain’t No Love in Oklahoma”—Luke Combs “Tornado”—Little Big Town
Acknowledgments
Writing is a deeply personal thing. Maybe that’s why the stereotype of a writer is so often one of solitude, but I think most writers will tell you that it’s a team sport. And I am so lucky to have an amazing team surrounding me. I’m going to attempt to thank everyone (and preemptively ask the forgiveness of anyone I miss).
Christina Miller, I couldn’t ask for a better advocate, and I’m so very happy we took a chance on each other. Thank you for always being just a text away, for your patience, and for your willingness to always go along with my chaos with a smile. May there be many more pink blazer days in our future!
Mary Baker, you saw the heart of these characters and this story so clearly. Thank you for your invaluable suggestions, eye for detail, and expert GIF usage. I’d also like to thank the rest of the PRH team—Anika Bates, Kristin Cipolla, Katie Ferraro, Christine Legon, Megan Elmore, Katie Anderson, and Ashley Tucker. Finally, an enormous thank-you to Julia JM for illustrating such a gorgeous cover!
Hannah and Celia, thank you for all the late-night conversations, brainstorming sessions, and the very enthusiastic ABSOLUTELY YES when I first floated the idea of a storm-chasing romance.
To my friends and family outside of publishing, especially those of you who’ve listened to me ramble on about writing for decades, I remain incredibly grateful for your support. Dan, my brother, my accomplice, and my very favorite road-trip copilot, I’d say I’m sorry about the pieces of you in this book, but we both know that’s a lie (love you). The Friends Without Benefits, for celebrating all of my wins as if they’re your own and being so excited for this book (we’re still never discussing the spicy scenes). My parents, for the endless reams of paper and legal pads I wrote my very earliest “books” on that are undoubtedly stashed away in some (hopefully deep) corner of a closet even to this day. Rachel, for nerding out and loving me and my writing so fiercely (but also finish the thing). Elissa, for teaching me the strength that exists in softness (and always being willing to look at my “underpainting” draft). Cassandra, for pushing me to reach higher (and lying to me about that first manuscript—we can both admit now it was bad!).
To the Berkletes and other authors I’ve met over the course of this wild ride, thank you for being the very best “coworkers” and welcoming me with such open arms. There are far too many authors to name individually, but an extra special thank-you goes out to Allie, Amanda, Emily, Megan, Molly, and Rachel for being such excellent cheerleaders, “how does this work, actually” consultants, and sounding boards. I am in awe of all of you, and sometimes I really can’t believe I get to hang with such talented, funny, encouraging, and lovely humans.
Mike, thank you for everything you’ve taught me about storm chasing, photography, the best gas station snacks, and how to remain chill when making questionable safety choices.
I remain forever grateful for all the work Jen Walton and Girls Who Chase are doing for women in storm chasing and meteorology. Thank you for being constant advocates and educators. I firmly believe the community you’ve built is a big part of why more and more women are allowing themselves to chase storms and their dreams.
And finally, to you, reader, for taking a chance on a debut author.
Keep reading for a preview of
BLOW ME AWAY
the next romance from Heather Frances!
Tyler
I used to like running. Then a redheaded demon named Lana came into my life.
“Don’t you dare.” I’m proud of myself that it’s more words than gasps, but there’s only so much I can do after nearly forty minutes on a treadmill with sweat dripping off every inch of me. Seriously. There’s a dark streak on the treadmill belt from it.
Lana smirks and presses a button to increase the incline of the running belt. Twice. “Anyone can do anything for a minute,” she chirps with her special brand of malice and positivity.
“Your minute was up—shit.” She presses the damn button again. I grit my teeth and force my legs to move, muscles burning, and think of the sweet, sweet relief of throwing myself in the pool when I’m done with today’s workout.
I should get ten whole minutes to myself before I have to get ready for my first meeting. But only if I can satisfy my trainer and get her out of my house on time.
It’s not the life I expected when I was cast as a meteorologist on the latest prestige drama to come out of the streamer-of-the-moment—my job consists of about 70 percent taking off my clothes (the reason the studio hired Lana to torture me) and 30 percent talking about the (fake) weather. It’s not the most mentally stimulating, but given what they pay me for five months of filming, I’m not about to complain. At least not outside the privacy of my own head.
“I hate you,” I tell Lana between gasps when she finally puts an end to today’s torture session. It only took another ten minutes on the treadmill and fifteen minutes of the kind of core exercises that will make even breathing hurt tomorrow.