“Of course you are,” her grandmother says adoringly before smiling at us. “You two better get to the airport. There are supposed to be storms rolling in soon.”
Phoenix gives her a cool lift of his eyebrow—since, ironically, she’s the reason we’re not there yet—before rising to help her to her feet. “Thank you for the breakfast hors d'oeuvres, Mom. Everything was delicious.”
I rise too and hug the kind woman. “It was, Ophelia. Thank you for having me.”
“Of course, and hold on just a minute. I boxed some up so you’d have food on the plane.”
“I’m too polite to point out that we do have full meal service on the jet,” her son says, and she makes a face at him. I like this woman. A lot. She lives in a literal mansion and yet she squeezes her own juice and sits on the floor with her granddaughter like a regular person.
She returns a moment later holding two bakery boxes she apparently already had ready and an oversized thermos. “Here you go. Since you liked the juice, Jordie, I put you some in here. I’ll get your number from Phoenix and send you the recipe.”
“That would be great. I’m thinking about getting a juicer because I'd love to make my own healthy drinks in the morning.”
Ophelia and Reece walk us to the door, and I give each of them another hug. Phoenix embraces his mother before setting down the food and taking his daughter in his arms. With a gentle motion, he sways her back and forth, whispering into her hair, and I have to look away from the touching scene.
His eyes are suspiciously damp when he sets her down and gives her a final reminder to be a good girl for Nana.
“I will, Daddy. And I promise we won’t go to any of those triple-X stores to buy toys.”
Ophelia lets out a strangled noise, and Phoenix shakes his head, mouthing, “Later,” to his mother. Guiding me toward the car, he mutters, “Don’t you dare fucking laugh.”
But it’s too late. I’m in hysterics, and they don’t stop until we reach the airport.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Extra cherries
Jordie
Private planes… if you have the means, I highly recommend you pick one up.
“At risk of sounding like a total hillbilly, this plane is the shiz,” I say, reclining back in the luxurious black leather seat across from Phoenix.
“Guess I’m a hillbilly too because I agree. No matter how many times I take one of our planes, I’m always in a little bit of awe.”
I lift my head from the padded headrest. “You have more than one plane?”
Phoenix swirls a finger in the air as he reclines as well. “This is the company plane. We also have a plane the Hale family uses for private travel. Lift the cover of your armrest and press the green button and then the blue.”
When I do, large balls begin rotating and moving against my back. “Dear god,” I moan. “Can I come sit in this chair after games?” My eyes close as the massaging balls do their work against my sore muscles. Coach has been working us hard at practice leading up to our first game of the season.
“Sure,” Phoenix draws out on a groan, obviously having turned on his massage function as well. “I’ll give you the keys to the hangar.”
“Is there a key to the plane door too, or should I bring my crowbar to jimmy it open?”
“You know, I have no idea,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “The crew always has it open when I arrive for a flight.”
Speaking of the crew, a woman in a baby-pink-and-white tailored suit approaches. “Mr. Hale, Ms. McNamara, can I bring you anything to drink now that we’re at our cruising altitude?”
“Some of the juice my mother sent, please. Jordie, you want a little splash of champagne in yours?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum.
“Two juices with champagne,” he tells the woman. “Thank you, Annie.”
The angel known as Annie returns shortly with two stemless champagne flutes and a plate of fruit for each of us. She flips out a drink holder and places my glass in it.
“So your first game is in a couple weeks against New York,” Phoenix notes once Annie disappears to the galley. “That’s a division game, right?”
