“Socks,” she corrected.
He rolled his eyes and slumped dramatically onto the table.
Gage returned, handing Nico his drink. They drifted into basketball talk: team stats, coaching changes, some half debate about overseas drafts. She didn’t say much while they talked, just sipped her tea and watched. Nico was energetic, funny. Gage was cool, but present.
He didn’t just tolerate the conversation, he kept it moving. Let Nico be loud. Let him tease. But still slipped in the right question when Nico veered off, like he’d been around enough boys to know how to keep one anchored.
If London weren’t looming, maybe this was what life could’ve looked like. Two people she loved, folding into each other’s worlds.
And then, right there—mid-sip, mid-smile—came the thought. The kind that stuck.
Gage would be a good dad.
He had a way of making the room calmer just by being in it. Even Nico, who was basically caffeine in human form, seemed steadier next to him. She didn’t say it out loud, but it stayed with her.
One more reason to love him.
“Oh,” Nico added, as if remembering something, “El Jefe said to say hello.”
Bea almost inhaled her tapioca. “Uh, thanks, tell him I said hi, too,” she said weakly.
Gage’s expression didn’t change outwardly.
Nico stood, polishing off his drink with one exuberant inhale. “Alright, I gotta go. My mom and dad are taking me to a movie tonight, but I’m like ninety percent sure there are no explosions.”
“Tragic,” Bea said.
“Bring me snacks next week.” He pointed at her.
“You’re getting socks.”
He looked at Gage. “It was nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” Gage said. No handshake this time, just a nod. The kind that meant something.
Bea sat back, watching him disappear. “He likes you,” she said softly.
“He’s a good kid,” Gage replied. “You’ve done well with him.” He reached out, put his hand over hers. “You’ve done well in everything, sweetheart.”
Who would’ve believed it? That she’d be in the top ten percent at St. Ives. That she’d be sitting here, across fromhim, with the kind of future people whispered about.
Bea looked down at her cup. At the pearls she couldn’t quite reach at the bottom.
She didn’t say,it feels like I’m giving something up.
She just said, “I wish I could do the program.”
And he said only, “I know.”
Chapter Thirty
Bea wasn’t trying to look glamorous, but Isabel would’ve called it a decent attempt. She’d picked her outfit carefully: black trousers, a soft cream sweater, and satiny flats Naomi insisted she needed because “serious girlfriend on a private jet” shoes were a thing.
Gage led her inside.
It was luxury that lived in the details. Buttery leather seats, dark walnut trim, champagne resting in coolers. The King crest etched tastefully into the headrests, the glassware, the linen napkins. The cabin was warm, perfectly temperature controlled.
There were a total of seven people on this entire airplane.
