RJ settles into the seat across the aisle from me.
Close enough to reach if needed.
Far enough to maintain the professional distance he's clearly trying to enforce.
I watch him from the corner of my eye as the flight attendant offers him a drink.
He declines with a curt shake of his head.
Of course he does.
He's on duty.
No alcohol, no relaxation, no letting his guard down.
I, on the other hand, have no such restrictions.
I sip my champagne and let the bubbles fizz on my tongue.
The plane taxis down the runway, and then we're lifting off, Dublin falling away beneath us.
I watch the lights shrink until they're just pinpricks in the darkness, then nothing at all.
Just black ocean and endless sky.
Goodbye, Ireland.
Goodbye, safety.
Hello, whatever comes next.
We fly in silence for nearly an hour.
I pretend to read a magazine.
He pretends to review something on his phone.
Neither of us acknowledges the elephant in the cabin—the memory of his body pressed against mine, his hand on my jaw, his voice rough with promise.
When this is over, we're going to finish this conversation.
The flight attendant dims the cabin lights and retreats to the galley.
We're alone now, suspended somewhere over the Atlantic, wrapped in darkness and the soft hum of the engines.
"You should sleep."
I turn my head. RJ is watching me, his expression unreadable in the dim cabin light.
"Can't," I admit.
"Try anyway. It's a long flight."
"Is that an order?"
Something shifts in his jaw. "A suggestion."
"Funny. Sounded more like an order." I sip my champagne and study him over the rim of the glass. "Do you ever turn it off? The soldier thing?"
