Only every hour since we last flew together. “A little.”
“And?”
And I want to take you up on it so badly.
“Shit.” I glance over at Shawn’s curse in time to see him trying to wipe away some salt from the tabletop.
“Did you spill it?” Darla calls out.
“No!” He cringes. “Okay, maybe. But just a little.”
“Beth.” George recaptures my attention, holding my eyes this time. “There’s a cookout hosted by the flying club I’m in this Sunday. A meet and greet. Come to it.”
“Can I?” The question is hesitant as I think back on the voicemail I received when I inquired all those years ago. George knows I’m not about to shell out thousands when I can’t even pay him for instruction.
“Potential members are allowed to attend two events beforejoining,” he says as if reading my internal worries. He pulls out his phone and quickly types a message. A moment later I feel a buzz in my pocket. “That’s the info. Just come. Then make your decision.”
It’s been five years. Maybe the pilot who left that message is gone. Or the rules have changed.
“I’ll think about it.”
“I’m getting better!” Shawn announces, now halfway through the diner on his salt-refilling mission.
“I don’t care,” Darla responds.
George and I both glance at my brother to see that the lack of encouragement has in no way deterred the man.
“Do they actually let him do anything at BnB?” I ask, low enough that only George can hear. “Or does he just play video games in a nice office?” Shawn and I don’t talk about his work much. I’m not interested in anything closely related to Karl Newton, although I haven’t outright said that to Shawn.
George refocuses on me. “BnB?”
A blush heats my neck, creeping to my cheeks. “I meant BBN. BnB…that’s just something I call it in my head.”
Something very close to a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“He’s head of the sales department. He’s usually first in the office. Last to leave. An asset to the company. Everyone loves him over there.”
Shawn sets down his latest shaker and catches us watching him. He gives us two enthusiastic thumbs-up, then heads to the next booth.
A pang sets off in my heart.
“I believe it.”
Chapter
8
“They’re just somepilots. Nothing scary.” I give the pep talk to my steering wheel as a plane takes off in the distance, soaring the length of my windshield before disappearing into the clouds.
I don’t know exactly why I agreed to come to this get-together. It’s not like I can join the club. The annual dues are more than a hundred dollars a month, and that’s only after a joining investment that’s multiple thousands of dollars.
But when George held out the offer, the chance to meet more people living the life I hope to grasp one day, I couldn’t keep away.
“I bet they’re all super kind and supportive and won’t judge me for only having flown three times in my life,” I murmur.
A tap on my window shocks a squeak out of me, and I glance over to see George leaning against the truck beside my car. His eyes are hidden by his shades, but I get the sense he somehow knows I’ve been talking myself through a bout of anxiety.
After another deep breath, I grab my bag and plate of spicybrownies, then push my door open. And I’m kind enough not to whack the man with it.
