Neera:WITH me.
Cole:Should I call over to the local inn for lodging?
Neera:Not unless you're uncomfortable with us sharing your guest room, in which case, don't derail your focus. I will see to the arrangements.
Cole:Oh. No, yeah, of course. Completely comfortable. That's cool.
Neera:Thank you.
Cole:Thank you for allowing me to observe this in action. The gratitude belongs to me.
Neera:Am I to interpret that as you believing I was otherwise incapable of forming amorous relationships?
Cole:I've never doubted your capability. You are audaciously competent with all things. I am, however, thrilled to find myself with a front row view of your personal life.
Neera:We've worked together for several years. You've had plenty of a view into my personal life.
Cole:That's a matter of perspective.
Neera:Perhaps.
Cole:Perhaps you're a closed book wrapped in chains and locked under ten magical spells.
Neera:Thank you for that vivid description.
Cole:Always. I can't wait to meet the lad.
Neera:I believe he's older than you.
Cole:Does that mean I can't refer to him as a lad? Because Owen convinced me to read a book about the Revolutionary War and in Alexander Hamilton's letters to John Laurens, he refers to the Marquis de Lafayette and George Washington as "the lads" and they were older than him. I checked.
Neera:I am certain you did.
Neera:Should I anticipate you at the airstrip?
Cole:Yes. I've told the lads at the tower to expect your arrival.
Neera:It's convenient, I see. Having your own airstrip and air traffic control tower.
Cole:Best piece of land I've ever bought.
I laugheddown at my phone before locking the screen. I hated to lean on the stereotype but there was something about boys and their toys. In this case, my boss and the long-abandoned cannery he demolished and repurposed as a private airstrip. He traveled no more than once each month but he kept a full-time ground crew because he loathed the hour-long drive to the region's other private airstrip.
Gus nudged my thigh with his knee, jerked his chin up in question from his seat opposite me on Cole's private jet.
"My boss," I supplied, tapping my fingers on the table between us. "He's rather fond of the runway he's built himself."
Gus nodded and returned to the sketchbook in front of him. It was angled up, away from my view.
It seemed we were running short on conversation today. When night had given way to morning, all of yesterday's freedom and courage and attachment had gone with it. The power and connection I'd felt hours ago was now replaced with awkward rigidity.
I'd slipped into checklist mode when I'd woken, busying myself with reviewing urgent issues and firing off messages while packing for this visit. I hadn't lingered in Gus's sleepy embrace or invited him into the shower with me. I hadn't spoken to him much at all.
It wasn't that I didn't want to speak to him. I kept a tight routine each morning. Cuddling—and conversation—didn't figure into that routine. I wasn't convinced it should. We'd shared one glorious night and I hurt in the best ways from it, but I couldn't up-end the order of my life on account of that night.
Routines aside, the ordered, strategic side of me doubted this. I doubted we could translate our animosity into more than highly spirited sex. I'd doubted Gus's desire to claim a place in my life. More than that, I doubted this hate-filled fondness of ours was meant for more than a weekend.
We were different people leading vastly different lives. We'd have our fun in Talbott's Cove and we'd burn bright for several days. Then, we'd return to the real world and burnout.
