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Her head swivels quickly so I can see her face. “Don’t.”
“Emma. Come on.”
She remains silent until it’s time to hand over our tickets. When I follow her onto the plane, she asks, “You bought a ticket?”
“How do you think I got to the gate?”
“Stupid rich jerk.”
Now that’s the girl I love.
“I bet you’re even in first class,” she deadpans.
Sadly, she’s right. “Only because there were no other coach seats available on this flight.”
“Seriously?” She glares back at me.
I can’t think of anything to say, so I merely shrug.
