She turns around and takes in the folded-up shirt in my hand.
“What’s that?” she asks.
I set my coffee down and unfold it. “To wear to bed when I’m gone.”
Her eyes meet mine as she says, “You’re giving me one of your shirts to wear at night?”
“Yes,” I say and take a step forward. I tilt her chin up with my finger and say, “You better wear it.”
Her eyes search mine for a moment before she says, “I will.”
“Good.” I close the little space between us and press a light kiss to her lips before pulling away. Like I said, baby steps. I want her to know I’m thinking ahead, but I’m not pushing her too much, too hard. “You look absolutely beautiful today, Blakely.”
“Thank you.” She glances at her outfit. “I’m glad I grabbed a number of work outfits before I left my apartment.”
That’s a good reminder to check if her landlord has actually fumigated her apartment.Not that I want her going back there. I don’t want her going anywhere.
“Me too. I have to pack. Have a good day, Blakely.”
“Safe flight.” I start to walk away when she calls out, “Halsey?”
I look over my shoulder to find her holding my shirt close to her chest. “Yeah?”
“Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome,” I answer before I walk back to my bedroom with a huge smile.
Maybe I’m doing everything right after all.
“I thinkI ate some bad bologna,” Posey says as he clutches his stomach on the plane. “Not feeling too great.”
“Maybe you should stop eating bologna,” Silas says.
“I second that idea,” Pacey adds.
We’re sitting at a table for four. Silas, Posey, Pacey, and me. Across the aisle is Hornsby and OC. We’re attempting to play cards, but Posey keeps stopping to take deep breaths.
“Dude, if you’re going to puke, can you not sit across from me?” Silas asks. “Maybe go hang out by the bathroom or something.”
“I second that idea,” Pacey repeats.
A sweat breaks out across Posey’s forehead. “Yeah, maybe not a bad idea.” He stands from the table and shoots back to the bathroom.
“He’s an idiot,” Silas mutters as Hornsby shifts into the seat where Posey was sitting.
I glance over at OC, whose head leans against the side of the plane, his eyes closed.
Hornsby whispers, “Did you guys see this?”
He flips his phone toward us so we can see the screen.
“What is it?” Silas asks.
“A job posting,” Hornsby replies. “For Blakely’s job. A friend just asked me if it was a good job or not.”
“What?” I say as I snap the phone from his hands and read the posting.
My eyes scan it so fast that I barely process what it says.
