His mouth tilted. “Because you’re clearly in no state to be behind the wheel, what with all your blood rushing away from your brain like that.”
I gasped, delighted and scandalized that he’d call out my lusting so easily. Maybe that kiss didn’t make things awkward. Maybe it did the opposite.
“So, New York, huh?” James asks now from his seat beside me on the plane while we wait for everyone to finish boarding.
Once again, I’m struck by howbigthis man is—his wide shoulders spilling into my seat, his knees jammed against the back of the seat in front of him. And Ireallywish I didn’t find that sexy. I’m a short moth sitting next to a tall flame.
I nod. “The Big Apple.”
“Are we returning Sammy to his home?” he asks, because Sammy is, of course, in my lap, safely enclosed in his mobile home. He was a big hit at security, like always. People love a tortoise.
“No.” I clutch the enclosure tighter to my abdomen. “He’s not ready yet.”
James stares at the shell, now bandage-free. “I mean . . . I don’twant to tell you how to parent, but he looks ready to me. Shell seems pretty solid.”
“Physically, yes. The vet says he’s ready. But emotionally? No way.”
“Emotionally? The vet diagnosed his emotions?”
“Of course not.Idid that.”
Laughter fizzes behind his eyes. I poke him in the side with my elbow and he arches away.
“I know you think I’m ridiculous,” I say.
“Madison, I already told you: I never think you’re ridiculous. Big-hearted, yes. Never ridiculous.”
How does he do that? Effortlessly make me feel so . . . important.
Sometimes I think no one sees me for who I really am. My quirks distract people, and they miss what’s happening beneath the surface. But when James looks at me, it’s like he sees the whole picture. I don’t have to try so hard with him—he justunderstands.
When I put my sex life on hold to pursue something more emotionally intimate, I never expected it might be withJames.Not that he’s offering—I mean, he hasn’t said anything likeI like you.And maybe he shouldn’t be the first person I try an actual relationship with.
What if I’m terrible at it?
What if I’m not built for commitment?
What if I get bored and want out?
Then I’d have to keep seeing him—at work, around town, at family functions—and it would be torture.
He’d hate me. And I can’t stomach the idea of James ever hating me now.
I glance toward the airplane door. The plane hasn’t taken off yet. Is it too late to get off?
This was a terrible idea, bringing him along.
The woman in the seat next to me, however, seems like a nervous flier and might fully spiral if I jump up and demand to be let off. She just popped a Xanax and her leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since she sat down. She’s also reading a book titledCalming Mantras to Repeat While Flying.
I stay on the plane for her.
“Why are we going to New York?” he asks, surprisingly for the first time since our phone call. We drove an hour to the airport, waited through security, killed time at the gate buying overpriced gum, and hejust nowasks why he’s here.There’s a moral in there somewhere.
“Well . . . I’m meeting with a big-time chef.”
He sits back again, pleased grin on his mouth. “A chef? That sounds important.”
“Not just any chef. Zora Brookes.”
