The car glides forward, my neighborhood passing through tinted windows, and I stretch into the plush leather. I haven’t had my own car in years; the last was a clunker I named Betsy. She served me well but when her engine practically fell out on my way home from Nan’s, I fully committed to the urban life of public transportation.
“I’m going to have to stop hanging out with you,” I say, sipping my coffee. “Ride shares and bus seats just don’t hold the same charm as hand stitched leather. This might ruin me.”
Noah laughs. “I can’t say that’s a bad thing.”
I roll my eyes and take another sip of my drink to keep from saying something I shouldn’t. He did offer to pick me up, and he brought coffee. The knot at the base of my neck throbs, begging for me to speak up.
“Are you alright?”
Noah’s head is cocked to the side, his brow crinkled with concern. I chew on the side of my tongue, trying to decide how honest I want to be.
“It’s just . . . most of us don’t have company cards and trust funds to burn through.”
Recognition flashes on his face. “Ah, I see.”
“That was probably the shittiest way for me to say it, and I swear I’m not trying to be awful, it’s just a lot to wrap my head around. Between the car service and the private planes, it’s clear you and I have very different opinions on what’s consideredeconomic.”
He nods, adjusting in his seat.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rushing to soften the blow.
“No,” he says. “I can see how all of this”—he motions to the car—“seems superfluous.”
“Seems?” I let out a nervous laugh. “We’re headed to board a private plane. Something you just knew how to arrange.”
“Ah,” he says again, the understanding blooming between us. “Can I explain?”
I’m not sure how else he’ll be able to explain any of it, but I nod. If it will make him feel better, I’ll let him speak his piece.
“The private flight was not my first choice. I did look into a commercial option, but for the dates of our trip, there were no direct flights. I was planning on accommodating the extra travel, but then learned the jet was headed back to LA anyway and would be making the trip with or without us. Flourish isn’t the only company who uses this charter. Our trip back is also apitstop for them on their way to Seattle. It’s honestly just a lucky happenstance.”
The knot in my neck drops to my stomach like a bowling ball. Fuck. Here I’ve been leaping to conclusions without even half the context.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, clutching the coffee cup so hard I fear it might crumple.
“Don’t be. I am very aware of what this looks like.”
His words are weighted with a tinge of bitter, like he’s had his fair share of moments being cast as the rich asshat.
“Thanks for this,” I mutter, raising my cup in his direction. “And the ride.”
“You’re welcome. I wasn’t sure how you take it, but this place makes the best cappuccinos.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else, though the sentiment stands. You’re ruining me for anything less.”
“Well, I meant what I said. Elevating your standards is not my idea of a bad time.”
“I have no business elevating anything.” I point a thumb over my shoulder. “You saw me fall back there. Me and high places don’t mix.”
He chuckles again, shaking his head and pulling his phone out. “We’ll see.”
There’s an unassuming simplicity in his response, and it disarms any further sarcasm I might have mustered. It leaves me off balance and grateful he’s not still looking at me. I shift my attention to the blur of mid-morning traffic outside my window, unable to ward off thoughts about what other standards Noah Graves intends on raising.
If towncars have ruined me for future ride shares, driving onto the tarmac and skipping standard security has ruined me for flying commercial ever again. I’m halfway into teasing Noah about this exact thing as we walk towards the sleek white jet.
“There are no crowds, no screaming toddlers, and no Karens fuming about a delayed flight. There’s not even a fight for a boarding order.”
“If it would make you feel better, I can shove you out of the way and board first.”
