“Just a little.”
Graham doesn’t say much as he grabs the last bag from the trunk, but he walks close, his hand brushing mine for no reason at all. Hunter does a slow sweep of the tarmac, his protective instincts humming just beneath the surface even though this is supposed to be the fun part.
And then I feel it.
Before I even see him.
The shift. The familiar scent of cedar and clean linen. The weight of him.
Landon.
I don’t have to search for him—my gaze finds him instantly. He’s standing by the other SUV, sunglasses in hishand, a simple black hoodie slung over his shoulder. He’s talking to Coach Crusher, nodding at something she says. He’s been at the last three practices, quiet and respectful, never pushing.
But his presence lingers. Always.
Just like the charm tucked into the side pocket of my bag.
He glances up, and our eyes meet.
It’s nothing. And everything.
A nod. A breath held too long.
The third time this week, and it still feels like a bruise I keep pressing to see if it still hurts.
Carson shifts beside me. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just...ready to go.”
Hunter follows my gaze, then leans down slightly. “Still figuring it out?”
I nod, throat tight. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t press. Just watches me for a moment, then says, “Take your time, princess. You don’t owe anyone a decision before you’re ready.”
His voice is steady and warm.
I glance up at him. “You sure?”
Hunter smiles, slow and sure. “I want you happy. However that looks.”
Graham catches the tail end of the exchange and slides a look toward Landon, unreadable. Then back to me. “Let’s get inside. It’s too hot to be standing out here pretending this is normal.”
It’s not.
But I follow them anyway.
Inside, the plane is ridiculous, but in a familiar, corporate-elite kind of way. Cream leather seats. Polished wood paneling. Enough legroom to actually stretch. I grew up around this kind of luxury, but seeing them react to it makes it feel new.
Daisy lets out a shriek near the mini fridge. “There are drinks in here! Like…real ones. Sparkling water and tiny cans of soda.”
Cheese sinks into a wide recliner and spins it slowly. “Okay, but are we sure this isn’t some kind of prank?”
“I don’t care if it is,” Knox calls, already trying to get the espresso machine to work. “I will die on this plane before I go back to middle seat life.”
Twinkle drops into the seat beside me. “Who is our sponsor, anyway? Because they clearly don’t believe in economy.”
I shrug and look down at my bag. “Guess they wanted us to arrive in style.”
