Bonnie:Until I wore him down with my American accent. He won me over with his cake.
Rowan:That I did.
* * *
Lottie has always talkedabout flying in Huxley’s private plane. She’s told me the wonders of not having to go through the same routine as flying commercial and dealing with crowds of people. She’s talked about the service... the bedroom in the back, but nothing she told me would have prepared me for this flight.
Because this, my friends, is bougie.
This is easily the fanciest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
Caneis printed on everything. The seats, the stationery... the napkins, even the apron the flight attendant is wearing.
And these seats—my God, I could get lost in one forever. I’d buy this seat alone, sell everything else in my tiny studio apartment, and live in this seat. I’d do everything in this seat. I’d sleep, eat, I’d even sponge-bathe myself.
I’ve already texted Lottie “good luck to the flight staff in removing me from this plane.”
Oh, and the staff. They call me Miss Gardner and they had my favorite seltzer on hand that I of course indulged in. As well as these fresh-from-the-freaking-airplane-oven cookies. I had three.
THREE!
And we’re talking the size of my fist. Three large, chocolatey cookies that tasted like success.
Needless to say, I’ve been enjoying myself despite the brooding, in-a-constant-state-of-annoyance, JP.
He didn’t speak to me when we arrived at the hangar. He didn’t say anything when we both sat down, and when the flight attendant asked him if he wanted a cookie, he saidnobut added another “finger” of Scotch to his drink.
His loss, because these cookies are phenomenal.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Cane?” Ronda, the lovely flight attendant, asks.
“I’m good,” he says, staring out the window.
She then turns to me. “Miss Gardner, can I grab you another cookie?” She winks, as if we both know I really want another one.
And I do, but three is pushing it. Four is out of line.
I press my palm to my stomach and say, “I don’t think I should.”
She gently rests her hand on my shoulder and says, “How about this? I’ll pack some up in a bag for you to take with you.”
Don’t mind if I do.
“You’re an absolute angel, Ronda.”
She gives me a pat and then retreats to the back of the airplane.
I glance over at JP and watch him casually lift his glass to his lips. Even though there was a seat right across from me, he chose to sit on the other side of the plane. If his outrage in the conference room didn’t clue me in on his displeasure with this trip, then his obvious seat choice has.
“You know... you could be a little nicer to Ronda,” I say, because why not poke the bear even more?
“I’m perfectly pleasant to her,” he says, keeping his eyes on the window.
“I haven’t heard anypleases orthank yous from you. Politeness goes a long way, JP.”
“Are you the polite police now?”
“No, but I do think we need to hold each other accountable for our actions and, frankly, I don’t think you’re being very kind at the moment.”
