Forecast for Love

By Roni Denholtz

Samantha Edwards is working at her dream job as a meteorologist. When she begins working with Brendan Keefe, an anchorman for their TV station, she feels an immediate attraction to him. But since she was burned by an old flame, she keeps her hobby a secret.
After his father’s sudden death during a storm, Brendan Keefe doesn’t trust meteorologists. On top of that, his old girlfriend deceived him horribly, and he finds it hard to put his trust in another woman.
The two are drawn together. Can they work past their personal issues to predict a sunny future and the best forecast of all—love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roni Denholtz
• Release date: Jul 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463679470

Book preview

Forecast For Love, Copyright 2018 Roni Paitchel Denholtz

Published by Roni Paitchel Denholtz

Cover and Interior Layout: www.formatting4U.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author. Please contact the author at [e-mail]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more information on the author and her works, please see www.ronidenholtz.com.

This book is also available in electronic formats at online retailers.

DEDICATION

FOR MY WONDERFUL SON

JOSHUA MAX DENHOLTZ

WITH LOVE!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to meteorologists Diana Cosby and Ken Elliott for answering my meteorological questions! Any mistakes are my own.

Thank you to my friends Jaya Kishore and Nisha Sharma for answering my questions on Indian culture.

A big thank you to my friend Jaya Kishore for letting me borrow her daughters’ beautiful names for my fictional Patel sisters.

Thank you to my editor Gina Ardito for all your help.

Thank you to my formatting and cover artist guru Judi Fennell for all your help.

CHAPTER I

Of course, you’ll still be working with the entire meteorological team, Gary Russell, station manager of Northern New Jersey Cable News 33 said as Samantha sat forward eagerly on her chair. And with your new schedule, you’ll be working closely with our two anchors, Vivienne and Brendan.

Ugh oh. A twinge of uneasiness moved through Samantha’s stomach. From what she’d observed, Vivienne was a doll. But Brendan--although a good news anchor--might not be the easiest guy to work with. Her path crossed infrequently with his. Brendan appeared charming and amusing—except when it came to the meteorologists at the station. Rumor had it he didn’t think the meteorologists on the news team were half as important as the anchors and reporters. And the one time she’d overheard him speaking about the weather had confirmed the rumor as truth.

That attitude could make working with him awkward, to say the least.

She sighed inwardly, but smiled at Mr. Russell, trying to tamp down her anxiety. When does the new schedule start?

She was excited about this switch. Going from the late night news to the late afternoon and dinnertime slot was kind of like a promotion. She’d been at the station for six months, and enjoyed working there, but the late hours meant she was at work when many of her friends were socializing.

Your new hours will start two weeks from yesterday—on that Monday, he answered. I guess you’ve heard that Jim gave notice.

She nodded. I heard. Jim had taken a job as head meteorologist at a small station in Nebraska, his home state.

Carol wanted the morning slot—she says she’s an early riser—so we moved her to Jim’s time, and we’re giving you the afternoon/dinnertime hours, Gary Russell finished.

Thank you! Samantha said. I would love to work those hours. And of course, I’ll still substitute when I’m needed at other times. The members of the team covered for each other during vacations and illnesses—and the newer employees were usually called on first. She gripped the chair arms, fighting a desire to clap in delight.

That’s part of the job, he said. And on occasional weekends a month, as well.

Certainly. She smiled at him.

Matt was the one who suggested the switch, Gary continued. I’ll tell him you’re okay with it. He stood. Congratulations.

Thank you! You know I enjoy working here, Samantha added, shaking his hand.

She exited his office, her step light. This was a move up for her!

She walked briskly down the corridor. Ringing phones and muted TVs—all tuned to their station—provided background sounds.

She’d been a bit worried when Mr. Russell had called and asked her to come to work early—even though he assured her nothing was wrong. During her recent performance review, she’d been told she was doing well at the station.

The late afternoon and early evening hours might not be as popular as the morning hours, but it was a step up for her. More viewers would see her than during the later evening and night time hours—although those newscasts were repeated for several hours into the night.

She wouldn’t be coming home late. She’d have more normal hours and a more normal life. She would have to email and text her family and friends, including Chetna. Like her, Chetna was a meteorologist. Chetna would be delighted for her.

She’d come in early for the meeting and didn’t have to be at work for several hours, but since she was here, Samantha decided not to go home and return. Instead she’d start monitoring the weather conditions and let the staff know if the weather would affect the news. But from everything she’d observed on the maps and charts yesterday, it looked like today would be another fine May day and evening. The humidity seemed to be increasing which meant tomorrow might bring rain—

She rounded a corner in the hall—and ran smack into Brendan Keefe.

Oh! she exclaimed as the papers he held went flying.

Even with her low pumps, she teetered from the impact. Brendan grabbed her elbow, steadying her, and Samantha felt a jolt of electrical energy zoom up her arm--almost like a lightning bolt.

It must be because she hadn’t been close to a good-looking guy for a long time, she told herself as she hastily reached for some of the papers. And for certain he was the handsomest man at the TV station.

Tall—over six feet—with dark hair, brown eyes and broad, imposing shoulders, Brendan was the kind of guy you’d notice even in a crowd. Their viewers—especially the women—liked him. He had a warm style and could put a subject at ease if he was interviewing someone, but then he could ask a sharp question. As news anchor—a job he’d been doing for only a few months—he was good on camera and both objective and sympathetic. From what Samantha had heard, when he’d replaced the retiring anchor for that slot, the ratings had gone up.

"Are you alright?’ he asked.

She felt her cheeks flush as she caught a whiff of his citrusy, masculine aftershave. She’d been so absorbed in her good news and the weather she’d practically run him over! And now she was staring at him. I’m sorry! she exclaimed. Are you okay?

Fine. His deep voice was slightly gruff. You looked like you were a million miles away.

I guess I was, she said hastily. Bending, she scooped up the remaining papers. Here. She straightened and handed him what looked like news bulletins.

He’d hear soon enough that they’d be working together, she supposed, so she didn’t say anything. It was probably better if he heard it from his boss, the news director, or from Mr. Russell. Anything exciting in the news today? she asked, striving to be friendly and professional.

That fire in Jersey City yesterday was deliberately set. Arson investigators are over there now, he said.

The office building? Wow, she said, and then wondered if she sounded inane. It had been a large blaze, and one person had died. Do they have any idea who did it?

Not yet. He sounded grim.

She recalled someone had said Brendan came from that area. Didn’t you grow up near there?

I lived in Bayonne when I was very little. That’s next to Jersey City. Then we moved to Woodbridge, he added. And I spent most of my childhood there.

She smiled. I know where Bayonne is. She wondered if he thought she wasn’t from New Jersey.

Or perhaps he thought she knew next to nothing about the state’s geography. But of course, as a meteorologist, she needed to know the geography of the area. She suppressed a sigh. She suspected what she’d heard was correct. He didn’t think too highly about meteorologists.

See you later. She kept her voice bright. Then she hurried down the hall to the weather center.

***

Brendan stared after Samantha Edwards as she moved down the corridor.

She was, without a doubt, the most attractive woman at News 33. He’d noticed her plenty of times at the station, walking as she was now. Often she had a sheaf of papers in her hand or an electronic device of one kind or another. It always seemed like she walked with a purpose, like she was moving toward something or doing something important. He’d found himself admiring her focus more than once.

Their paths hadn’t crossed much, since she was on in the evening, and he had the late afternoon/six o’clock news/dinnertime shift. He didn’t think she’d noticed him much, but he couldn’t help noticing her.

Samantha was medium height—probably five feet five inches—with almost black hair that fell to her shoulders, and beautiful grayish blue eyes. Sometimes she wore a serious expression—he guessed it was when she thought something was up with the weather—but most of the time she wore a sunny smile.

Holding his sheaf of papers, he headed toward the news room now. Samantha was engrossed in the weather—a popular part of the news broadcasts. He knew every station let their meteorologists play a crucial part in the news each day. But he didn’t see the weather playing much of a part in the real news—unless it was a blizzard or something like that. And so many times, the weather people had it wrong. That was the truth.

He reached his desk and pulled out his chair, plopping himself down. Vivienne, his co-anchor, sat at her desk nearby, checking her computer. Two of the reporters sat at their desks further down the room, both on the phone.

His mind wandered back to Samantha. She was gorgeous enough to make their viewers watch even more closely. She was good on camera too. He’d observed her a number of times. Confident and warm, she also had a way of explaining the weather in easy-to-understand terms. From what he’d heard, the viewers really liked her. In her short-sleeved blue suit, she’d looked pretty and full of life today. And appealing.

Too appealing. Too distracting. It was a good thing they didn’t run into each other often.

He had to get back to his notes. Checking the bulletin in his hand, he turned his attention to a follow-up story, deliberately concentrating on the news at hand.

CHAPTER II

Hello, Samantha.

Samantha nearly jumped as she recognized Brendan’s masculine voice right behind her. Her soda dropped with a clunk in the vending machine. Retrieving it, Samantha turned to face him.

Hi. Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears. Any big news stories today?

Today Brendan wore a black suit, a pale yellow shirt and black and yellow tie. His large brown eyes, straight nose and engaging smile added up to a handsome face. But it wasn’t just his features. Brendan exuded a certain masculine presence, a confidence that viewers liked.

Their female viewers certainly appreciated him.

He shook his head. No. Slow news day. Anything exciting going on with the weather?

Was that the slightest trace of sarcasm in his voice… or was she imagining it? Samantha couldn’t be sure, and decided to take it as a simple question. No. She popped the top of the can of her diet cola and took a quick sip. A chance of a shower tonight, especially in northwest New Jersey, but that’s all.

He drew closer, pausing to slide money into the vending machine. She watched as he punched the button for ginger ale. I hear we’re going to be working together in about ten days. His voice was even, but neutral--betraying neither negative nor positive emotions.

Yes. She took another sip of her cola and the cool liquid slid down her throat. Mr. Russell or someone else must have given him the news yesterday after she literally ran into him.

I look forward to it. The phrase was trite, but came out of his mouth with a brief smile.

At least he appeared pleased, she thought.

I do too, she said. With a start, Samantha realized she was looking forward to working with Brendan.

Kind of. But she was a little nervous too.

Well… she finished, I have to get over to the weather center to check the maps and data.

I have to go over the day’s stories with Vivienne and figure out what needs to be continued tomorrow, he said.

They walked towards the door of the break-room together. In the silence, she was acutely conscious of his presence. The air around them seemed charged with energy.

See you later, she said lightly.

Later, he echoed.

She turned left as he went toward the right. As she walked down the hall to the room that was the hub of weather forecasting for the station, she couldn’t help wondering how well they would work together.

How easy—or difficult—would it be to work with someone who didn’t think the weather was important?

Someone who was also devastatingly handsome, and could be personable?

***

Is Brendan as handsome in person as he looks on TV? Chetna sat down on the plush couch next to Samantha. She held out the bowl of her special trail mix, consisting of nuts, mini pretzels, small crackers and spices Chetna had toasted herself.

Yes, he is. Samantha grabbed a handful of her friend’s mix, dropped it on her napkin, added one of the apple slices she’d brought over, and started munching.

It was Saturday afternoon, and they were in the apartment Samantha’s friend Chetna Patel shared with her sister Pratna, across the parking lot from Samantha’s own apartment. They were waiting for Pratna to return from work. Pratna, a pharmacist, worked at a drug store near their apartment complex, and had to put in some hours every couple of Saturdays. When she returned, the three had plans to go to the movies.

Samantha had met Chetna the first day of her freshman year at Rutgers University. Their dorm rooms were down the hall from each other. They’d discovered they were both meteorology majors with minors in communications and aspired to forecast the weather on TV. And that wasn’t all they had in common.

They both had older sisters, although Chetna had a younger brother too. Both their mothers were pharmacists, though Samantha’s dad was a lawyer and Chetna’s father was a doctor specializing in kidneys. They’d become close friends and after that freshman year, they’d chosen to room together, shared a lot of classes, and they’d stayed close. They’d attended different universities for their masters’ degrees, with Samantha going to Cornell and Chetna going to Johns Hopkins. But they’d stayed close during that time and afterwards.

Samantha had gotten a job at a small TV station in upstate New York and Chetna had started at a station in Pennsylvania, then gotten a job in New York City at a small station. Samantha had wanted to return to New Jersey, where most of her family and friends were. Shortly after Chetna got her job and started commuting from her apartment in Parsippany, Samantha had been offered the job at Northern New Jersey News 33. She liked the complex Chetna lived in, and it wasn’t far from the TV station in Morristown, so she’d rented a one bedroom apartment there. She didn’t mind living by herself, after years with roommates, and she was close to work and many of her friends. And now, after six months, she was moving to a better time slot and would have more time to spend with friends.

And, with the better schedule, more time to spend on her writing.

Of course, having more viewers meant more pressure. Plus the challenge of working with Brendan.

She admitted as much to Chetna as they sat in the bright living room of the two bedroom apartment the sisters shared. The apartment was cozy, with cream colored sofas and walls touched by accents of red and gold.

His photo looks good on the station’s web page, Chetna said. She wiped her hands on a paper towel, got up, and brought her laptop over to the coffee table. Opening it, she found the webpage and, with a few taps of her fingers, clicked on the bio for Brendan Keefe. She angled the laptop so Samantha could see it better.

I’ve seen it, Samantha confessed. Actually, I checked it when I first got the job—and then again when I found out I’d be working with him.

Hmmm… Chetna murmured, skimming through the bio. "He lived in Bayonne until his family moved to Woodbridge… he played soccer in high school… he studied journalism at NYU and graduated with honors. After some time at a station in Baltimore, he returned to New Jersey, to Northern New Jersey News 33.

He enjoys playing guitar in his spare time, doing martial arts, and going to the movies, Chetna read from the webpage. That’s good, he’s well rounded. She lifted her sparkling brown