Her shoes go into a bin. She steps toward the scanner. I step after her. The line funnels us into closeness we haven’t had since the bike ride. I feel her in front of me like heat.
“Dean.” Her voice is low as she turns just a fraction.
“What?”
“I’m okay,” she states matter-of-factly. “About everything.”
The words hit too close to my ribs. “Okay…” I manage.
She doesn’t smile. She just holds my gaze briefly, like she’s letting me know she’s not breaking, not angry, not trying to make me pay. And, that’s the worst part about this. I don’t know how to fight someone who doesn’t come at me with weapons.
We clear security, regroup at the gate. A few travelers glance our way, but no one causes a scene. We’re early enough, half disguised enough.
Luc and Lily take the window seats near the back so Larkin can nap. Hayden and Mikey sprawl across a row, already arguing about a new pedal board idea. I drop into a seat without thinking.
Sadie slides into the aisle beside me. I feel the shift in her leg against mine. A small press of skin against denim. Not intentional, but it’s not nothing either. Her touch. My pulse does the wrong thing.
She pretends not to notice. I pretend better. The plane starts boarding around us. Overhead bins slam shut. A kid cries. Someone drops their phone. Ordinary world noise. And I can’t stop feeling like I’m sitting in a different universe.
Because Sadie’s here.
Because she’s close.
Because the kiss didn’t make her run.
Because she’s still choosing to sit next to me.
I stare at the seatback in front of me like it’s a lifeline.
“You nervous flying?” she asks quietly.
“No.”
“Mm.” She gives me the tiniest, almost smile. “You look like you’re about to go onstage without pants.”
I cut my eyes to her. “Is that your professional interpretation?”
“Yep.” She leans back. “Very scientific.”
“Good to know.”
She laughs softly. And something in my chest shifts again, not painful this time. Just… alive. The plane taxis. Takes off. The city drops away beneath us. Sadie looks out the window. “It’s weird leaving Memphis.”
“Yeah.”
“I liked it there,” she muses, to herself or me, I’m not sure. Because of Elvis? Because of quiet days? Because of me? I don’t ask. I can’t. She turns a little. “Thanks for taking me to Graceland.”
I keep my face even. “Yeah, sure, no big deal.”
She makes a little sound in her throat like she doesn’t buy that for a second. “Well, anyway, thanks.”
I swallow. “You’re welcome.” Quiet again.
Then she says, as if it costs her something to say aloud, “I liked seeing you like that.”
My stomach drops. “Like what?”
“Happy.” One word. Honest. Brave.
