Before I could answer, someone slid into the open seat on my other side. I sensed him, smelled his woodsy cologne before I turned to see.
Oliver.
He didn’t say anything at first—just dropped into the seat, stretched out his long legs, and exhaled. His thigh pressed into mine, and he had no issue leaning on the armrest between us.
My heart pounded harder. Shit. Should he be this close to me? We hadn’t talked alone since we woke up spooning Monday morning. He quietly left, and we had always been around others after that. My cheeks reddened, and I closed my eyes, willing my pulse to knock it off. I couldn’t handle the flight and Oliver messing with my nervous system.
“Hey, you good, Sloane? Need more room?” Noah asked, already raising the armrest between us so he could sprawl comfortably.
“I’m fine,” I breathed, not opening my eyes.
“Why wouldn’t you be fine?” Oliver’s voice held a twinge of worry. “What’s wrong?”
“My goodness, I’m fine, you two.” I glared at Noah, then Oliver, but both of them wore slight smiles as they stared at me. “What? Do I have something on my mouth?”
Oliver’s gaze shot to my lips, his heating a bit before he grinned. “No, your lips look perfect, Doc.”
Noah looked between Oliver, then me, and smirked. “Ohhh. This is gonna be fun.”
I glared at him. He leaned back and pulled down his sleep mask, still grinning. “Use me all you want, Sloane. Pretty sure my shoulder has a rating for how comfy it is.”
I didn’t get to respond to the gentle giant. The plane jerked forward as we pushed off the tarmac. My grip found the seat edge again, and my blood turned cold. I hated this part, the feeling of being thrown in the air without a parachute. What if we crashed? What if the wing fell off? What if we had to wear those oxygen masks and mine didn’t work and I passed out?
“Hey,” Oliver said, his voice low as he leaned closer. “You need to breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“No, you’re locking up. I can see how tense you are, hon.” He ran a hand over my forearm, gently rubbing a circle on my skin.
“Stop freaking watching me then,” I snapped, sounding super mature and cool.
The engine roared, and we turned slightly, wheels lifting, the plane tilting.
I sucked in a breath, then another—too fast. I hated takeoff. Hated the drop in my stomach and the pressure in my ears and the fact that I had zero control over anything in the air.
Oliver must’ve seen it on my face because his hand found my thigh, slow and steady. He didn’t move it. Just left it there, firm and warm.
I didn’t push him away.
“Focus on my hand,” he murmured. “Just that. Just this moment.”
I did.
My chest loosened a little. The tight coil in my ribs unspooled enough to let a breath in without it catching at the top. My knee stopped bouncing. My fingers, still clenched in the armrest, slowly eased their grip. I felt him before I saw him—his hand remained on my thigh, his thumb moving in slow, steady circles. Small ones at first, barely more than a brush of contact. Then broader strokes, warm and anchoring.
His touch was confident, not hesitant or invasive. Like he already knew what I needed. His palm stayed still, his thumb moving like a metronome against the thin fabric of my joggers. The heat of it sank into my skin, spreading in every direction until goose bumps bloomed across my arms, my neck, everywhere.
I shifted in my seat slightly, trying not to react too obviously, but the sensation was too much. Too grounding. Too good. I grabbed my bag from under the seat and settled it over mylap, not because I needed anything in it—but because I needed something between us. Not to block him out but to hide the way my body was responding. I was spiraling, not from fear anymore but from how deeply this man could settle me with one touch.
And yet, I didn’t care who saw. Not Ivy. Not Mac. Not anyone. Not right now.
“There you go,” he murmured, voice barely above the hum of the plane. “Good job, Sloane. Deep breaths for me.”
I inhaled slowly through my nose. Held it. Exhaled through my mouth. It was the first breath that didn’t scrape on the way out.
The plane began to roll faster, the engines ramping into a low, vibrating roar beneath us. I hated this part—when the wheels hadn’t left the ground but it felt like they were moments from lifting. Like you were being dragged forward faster than your body could handle. The air pressure thickened. The floor rattled under my sneakers.
Oliver’s hand never moved. His thumb never stopped. His voice stayed soft and steady in my ear.
