Weather Girl - book cover
Dramas & Plays
  • Publisher : Berkley
  • Published : 11 Jan 2022
  • Pages : 352
  • ISBN-10 : 0593200144
  • ISBN-13 : 9780593200148
  • Language : English

Weather Girl

A TV meteorologist and a sports reporter scheme to reunite their divorced bosses with unforecasted results in this electrifying romance from the author of The Ex Talk.

Ari Abrams has always been fascinated by the weather, and she loves almost everything about her job as a TV meteorologist. Her boss, legendary Seattle weatherwoman Torrance Hale, is too distracted by her tempestuous relationship with her ex-husband, the station's news director, to give Ari the mentorship she wants. Ari, who runs on sunshine and optimism, is at her wits' end. The only person who seems to understand how she feels is sweet but reserved sports reporter Russell Barringer.

In the aftermath of a disastrous holiday party, Ari and Russell decide to team up to solve their bosses' relationship issues. Between secret gifts and double dates, they start nudging their bosses back together. But their well-meaning meddling backfires when the real chemistry builds between Ari and Russell.

Working closely with Russell means allowing him to get to know parts of herself that Ari keeps hidden from everyone. Will he be able to embrace her dark clouds as well as her clear skies?

Editorial Reviews

One of Buzzfeed's Most Anticipated Books of 2022!

"That feeling you get when you curl up on the couch on a rainy Saturday, with a great book in one hand and a spiked hot chocolate in the other: that's the feeling you get when you read Weather Girl. This book is cozy, comforting, thought provoking, and it'll make you feel warm from the inside out."-Jasmine Guillory, New York Times bestselling author of While We Were Dating

"A sharp, witty romance full of heart. Rachel's writing zips off the page. As with The Ex Talk, she has created truly original, well-rounded characters you will love. A sexy storm of a book."-Sophie Cousens, New York Times bestselling author of This Time Next Year

"A delightful romance. Perfect for rainy days and sunny days and everything in between." -Helen Hoang, New York Times bestselling author of The Heart Principle

"Rachel Lynn Solomon has crafted a magical story that celebrates hope, resilience, and love. My forecast: read it, and you'll be on cloud nine."-Ali Hazelwood, New York Times bestselling author of The Love Hypothesis

"A perfect storm of classic rom-com delights, Solomon's singular voice, and wholly original characters."-Julia Whelan, author of My Oxford Year and award-winning audiobook narrator

"A tender, hilarious, and heartfelt love story you'll read in one sitting!"-Tessa Bailey, New York Times bestselling author of It Happened One Summer

"Wryly funny and sweetly sexy, Rachel Lynn Solomon's Weather Girl is as comforting as a weighted blanket and as carefully considered as one of Ari's forecasts. For everyone who's ever believed themself too much to love, this book offers both solace and a gentle promise: If you allow yourself to be truly known, you may find someone who'll adore you on even your darkest days."-Olivia Dade, author of Spoiler Alert

"With Rachel Lynn Solomon's trademark brand of humor and charm, Weather Girl is a love letter to every woman who's ever felt they had to hide their stormy days behind a sunshine exterior. With a tender romance at its center, this story will heat you up, melt your heart, and affirm the incredible beauty of being loved for exactly who you are."-Sonia Hartl, author of Heartbreak for Hire

"Weather Girl is warm and deeply romantic. Once again, Rachel Lynn Solomon has created a cast of characters that we fall in love with from the moment we meet them."-Annette Christie, author of The Rehearsals

"Weather Girl is everything you could want in a romantic comedy. With nods to The Parent Trap and Set it Up

Short Excerpt Teaser


Forecast: Cloudy with a chance of public humiliation

There's something especially lovely about an overcast day. Clouds dipped in ink, the sky ready to crack open. The air turning crisp and sweet. It's magic, the way the world seems to pause for a few moments right before a downpour, and I can never get enough of that heady anticipation-­this sense that something extraordinary is about to happen.

Sometimes I think I could live in those moments forever.

"What was that?" my brother asks from the driver's seat. It's possible I've just let out a contented sigh. "Are you getting emotional about rain again?"

I've been staring-­well, gazing-­out the window as the early morning sky surrenders to a drizzle. "No. That doesn't sound like something I'd do."

Because it's not just that I'm emotional about rain. It's that rain means the thrill of tracking a cold front as it moves in from the Pacific. It means knee-­high boots and cable-­knit sweaters, and it's simply a fact that those are the best clothes. I don't make the rules.

For so many people, weather is small talk, the thing you discuss when you've run out of conversation topics at a party or you're on a first date with a guy who lives in his parents' basement and thinks you two could be really happy down there together. Can you believe the weather we're having? It's a source of joy or frustration, but rarely anything in the middle.

It's never been small talk for me. Even if we're due for six more months of gloom, I always miss it when summer comes.

"You're lucky I love you so much." Alex rakes a hand through the sleep-­mussed red hair we almost share, only his is auburn and mine is a bright shock of ginger. "We'd just gotten past Orion's fear of the dark, but now Cassie's up at five if we're lucky, four-­thirty if we're not. No one's getting any sleep in the Abrams-­Delgado house."

"I told you she's a little meteorologist in training." I adore my brother's five-­year-­old twins, and not just because they're named after constellations. "Don't tell her we have to do our own hair and makeup. Ruins the illusion."

"She has to watch you every morning before preschool. Dinosaur-­shaped pancakes and Aunt Ari on the TV."

"The way God intended."

"I must not have been paying attention that day in Hebrew school." Alex stifles a yawn as we jigsaw around Green Lake. He lives on the Eastside and works in South Seattle, so he picked me up in my tree-­lined Ravenna neighborhood and will drop me off at the station when we're done.

His clock is always six minutes fast because Alex loves the extra motivation in the mornings. Right now it reads 6:08-­usually late for me, but thanks to one of Torrance's last-­minute schedule changes, I won't be on camera until the afternoon. I might end up staying awake for a full twenty hours, but my body's gotten used to me messing with its internal clock. Mostly.

Still, imagining my tiny perfect niece transfixed by a weather report warms the very center of my heart.

Once upon a time, I did the exact same thing.

"Relax. It's going to be great," Alex says as I fidget with the zipper on my waterproof jacket, and then with the necklace buried in the fuzz of my sweater. I only roped him into this because I didn't want to do it alone, but there's always been a whisper-­thin line between excitement and anxiety for me.

Even if my tells weren't so obvious, he'd be able to sense my emotions with his eyes closed. At thirty, Alex is three years older than I am, but people used to think we were fraternal twins because we were inseparable as kids. That morphed into a friendly rivalry as teens, especially since we were in the habit of crushing on the same boys-­most notably, this Adonis of a track star named Kellen who had no idea we existed, despite our appearance at every one of his meets to cheer him on. This was made clear on the day of the state championships, when I showed up with flowers and Alex with balloons, and Kellen blinked his gorgeous tide pool eyes at us and said, "Hey, do we go to the same school?"

Reluctantly, I allow the swish of the windshield wipers to lull me into a false sense of calm. We head north up Aurora, past billboards for the Pacific Science Center, for gutter cleaners, for a guy who could be either a personal injury lawyer or a pro wrestler, given the way his face is twisted in a scowl. A cluster of car dealerships, and then-­

"Oh my god, there it is. Stop the car. Stop the car!"

"You're not allowed to yell like that when I'm driving," Alex says, even as he stomps the brake, his Prius tossing me against the door. "Christ, I thought I'd hit something."

"Yes. My ego. It's shattered."

He swerves into the parking lot o...