“Is it a vineyard? Oh god, tell me it’s not that creepy doll museum two towns over. Wait. Are we going to an alpaca farm? Because I need distinct footwear for that… Oh, I know! It’s a balloon ride! You always have to get up early for those.”
He flicked a glance at me, his eyes glowing with amusement.
“Am I at least on the right track.”
“Not even close.”
The scenery started to thin out. Trees gave way to open, flat fields and chain-link fences that stretched out for miles. The truck crunched over loose gravel as he finally turned off the main highway.
My chatter died in my throat. We weren’t at a hotel or a restaurant. We rolled to a stop right in front of a wide, corrugated metal hangar with a bright orange windsock lazily drifting in the breeze.
The engine cut out, plunging us into sudden quiet. I stared through the windshield, my brain struggling to catch up with what I was seeing.
“We are...” I swallowed hard, turning to look at him with wide, incredulous eyes. “We aren’t driving to the surprise? We’re flying somewhere?”
“You got it.”
“Where?”
He got out of the truck without a word, retrieved our bags from the back and headed toward the hangar. I hustled after him, jogging to catch up.
The doors were already open, and as we rounded the corner onto the tarmac, there it was.
A sleek white jet with a navy stripe down the side, gleaming in the early morning light like something out of a magazine spread. The stairs were already down, and a man in a crisp uniform stood at the bottom, clipboard in hand.
I stopped dead in my tracks. “You have a plane?”
Cam glanced back at me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t own it.”
“Oh.”
“It’s a charter.” He handed our bags off to the attendant, who greeted him by name before disappearing up the stairs with our luggage. “Owning a plane is a whole thing. Maintenance, storage, pilots on retainer, so I just lease it when I need it. It’s much easier.”
“Easier,” I repeated, still rooted to the spot. “You lease private jets. For ease. Like normal people lease... I don’t know, a Kia.”
He walked back to me, his eyes dancing with barely contained amusement. “You coming, or you gonna stand there catching flies all morning?” He held his hand out to me.
I snapped my mouth shut and put my slightly shaking hand in his, letting him lead me toward the stairs, my head still spinning. “You know, a little warning would have been nice. ‘Hey Emily, I’m secretly loaded, maybe don’t wear your rattiest sneakers to the private airfield.’”
He chuckled as we climbed the steps. “Your sneakers are cute. And it’s not a secret. You just never asked for specifics.”
I was struck speechless when we stepped inside. The interior of the plane was all warm wood tones, cream leather seats, and soft lighting that made the whole space feel more like a cozy living room than a mode of transportation.
A woman in a neat navy uniform appeared from somewhere near the back, her smile bright and professional. “Mr. Rockford, welcome aboard. Please, make yourselves comfortable. Once we’re airborne, I’ll bring out breakfast. In the meantime, can I get you anything? Coffee, juice, water?”
“Coffee would be amazing,” I said, finally finding my voice. “Thank you.”
“Same for me,” Cam added.
We settled into the biggest, softest leather seats I’d ever seen and buckled up. A moment later, the engines hummed to life, and the plane began to taxi toward the runway.
The ground fell away until the clouds swallowed the view. My stomach churned with something I couldn’t name. Wonder, maybe. Or disbelief. Or the strange, surreal feeling of being someone who got whisked away on private jets by a man who looked at her like she hung the moon.
When I finally turned back to Cam, he was watching me, his coffee untouched on the table.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
