"I know that already."
What if this was vacation brain? What if I'm the only one who—
"What if you decide Boston winters are a dealbreaker?" I say instead.
His mouth quirks. "I played hockey in Minnesota for six years, Cooper. I think I can handle Boston."
"What if Grace hates you?"
"Then I'll win her over."
"What if—"
"I counted forty-seven reasons this won't work. At three a.m. While you were drooling on my shoulder."
"I don't drool."
"You absolutely drool. You also snore. Lightly. It's adorable."
He counted reasons this won't work. At three a.m. While I was asleep.
He's in as deep as I am.
I'm in so much trouble.
"Like I said, forty-seven reasons it won't work," he says, "and I still moved my flight. That should tell you something."
It tells me everything.
We talk. We sit quietly. Sometimes at the same time—his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, watching planes taxi through amber light.
“Don’t wealthy families have contingency travel rules?” I ask when the thought pops into my head. “So the entire dynasty doesn’t board the same aircraft?”
West pauses. Looks at me with narrowed eyes.
“Are you jinxing us?”
Immediate regret. Full-body.
“I retract that. Fully retracted. Struck from the record.” I press my palm flat against his chest like I can physically shove the words back into my mouth. His heartbeat strums steadily and strong under my hand. Mine is not. “Forget I said anything. I’m sure planes are extremely safe. Statistically.”
He laughs—low and quiet. The kind of laugh that means he’s actually amused, not just tolerating me.
“We’ll land,” he says.
Somehow the certainty in his voice isn't just about aviation. It's about us.
Other passengers move around us, caught in their own departures. A mother wiping a toddler’s face. Two college students comparing boarding passes. An elderly couple holding hands the way people hold hands after fifty years—without thought, without performance, without needing anyone to notice.
“I’m going to miss this,” I say quietly.
"Miss what?"
"This. The quiet parts. The parts where we're not talking or planning or—just this."
He kisses the top of my head. His lips stay there a beat longer than casual.
"Me too."
