“Good to know.” But only because it’s a sign that he’s going to push me every bit as hard as he always has. Worse even, because now I owe him.
I spend the rest of the flight reading all the texts I missed, most of them from Vivian. Tears roll down my cheeks as it sinks in for me—her faith in me and the incredible lengths she went to to find me. Talk about loyal. Vivian is the queen in that regard. A true friend and one I don’t want to live without.
I send her a quick text.
Me:About to land at LaGuardia. I should be home in about an hour. Can’t wait to see you, my friend.
Vivian:You’ll see me a lot sooner than that! I’m waiting at the private terminal. Look for the girl with the huge smile.
“Paige!!!!!” Vivian squeals, running across the arrivals area with a bunch of balloons bobbing up and down behind her.
We both screech loudly as we rush toward each other, and I drop all my stuff so we can give each other the biggest hug of all time. She holds me tightly and says, “You’re here. You’re really here!”
“I am! I made it!” I say, fresh tears pricking my eyes. “Thanks to you!”
We pull back and laugh and cry, then hug again. I swallow the lump in my throat. “I can’t believe you did all of that. It must have cost you a fortune to fly there and back and for the hotel.”
“No, it was nothing. Literally. I used points,” she says, squeezing me again. “And even if it cost me every cent I have, I’d have done it anyway. I couldn’t leave my bestie stranded in the wild forever!”
“Thank you,” I whisper, overcome by gratitude.
“I knew you were alive. I just knew it.” She lets go of me, then puts her hands on my cheeks. “Let me look at you. I need to make sure you’re real.”
She glances up and down, and says, “You look amazing.”
“I have a real tan and I’m sure I lost a little weight.”
“No, who cares about that. You look … different. In a good way,” Vivian says, smiling at me. “Like super relaxed and breezy or something.”
“It’s the tan,” I tell her, and we both laugh.
“I think it’s the man,” she says, grabbing my suitcase. “Now, let’s get you home and eat chocolate cake and talk all night about Mr. Sexy Pilot Man, because your texts came through about three hours ago and I havesomany thoughts and questions.”
“You bought cake?”
“Of course I bought cake. The fact that you’re alive is the biggest thing I’ll ever celebrate in my entire life.”
We catch a cab back to our apartment, and soon, we’re snuggled up on the velvet sofa under soft chenille throw blankets with plates of chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream.
Vivian takes a huge bite then says, “So, tell me everything. Don’t leave out any details. I need to know it all.”
I smile at the thought of Mac, my heart squeezing with equal parts love and fear. I start to talk and talk and talk, telling her everything about him and how our relationship grew so quickly into something so amazingly wonderful. I tell her about the toe-curling sex and the late-night poker games, and how he cared for me and the way he would look at me—as if I was the only woman in the world (which I get could be due to the fact that I was literally the only woman on the island). I tell her about his family and how his crappy dad left when he found out his mom was pregnant and how he lost his mom when he was six, and how his grandpa raised him to think like an old man, and how it’s equally annoying and endearing at the same time.
I only stop talking when my phone pings. I pick it up, my heart speeding up in case it’s Mac trying to reach me. It’s a notification from Venmo.
You have received a refund of $800 from Gamble Air Inc.
Message from Vendor: As promised. I hope you made it home okay. Mac.
I stare at the message, reading it over a few times, while my heart pounds. “He just refunded me my money,” I say, showing my phone to Vivian.
She tilts her head and says, “Huh. A man of few words.”
“I think they cap the number of characters on these messages, but yeah, I guess you could say he’s the strong and silent type,” I answer, taking my phone back and looking at his message again. “But once he gets to know you, he’ll talk for hours.” I smile to myself, a vision playing in my head of laying in the hammock with him while he told me about his first ever flight.
“So? Are you going to write him back?” she asks.
“Yeah, of course. I just … need to think of what to say,” I answer.
