His smile grew, curiosity sparking. I handed him the book and waited.
“ThePocket Atlas of Human Anatomy?” he read, then looked at me like I was crazy before bursting into lively laughter. I shrugged, smiling back. “Why this?”
“Well, English classics are all good and fun, you know, you can rely on them, they rarely disappoint, but from time to time I like to... learn stuff. Some new stuff. Like, if I’m ever in a trivia contest and someone asks, ‘What’s the fastest muscle in the human body?’ I could say, ‘Eyelids, or orbicularis oculi’, as the kids call it these days. And people would be impressed.”
He held my gaze, his eyes searching for something. A familiar shiver ran through me, and I tugged my jacket sleeves down forwarmth. Luke glanced at my hands before shifting his attention back to the book.
“So you’re kind of anall-book genretype of girl?” He flipped through the pages, pausing to study the pictures of the human body.
“If you like to call it that.”
“Well, you’re definitely a surprise,” he muttered to himself.
“Okay, so we have extensively talked about my book taste on multiple occasions. What about yours?”
“I don’t think I have one.”
“Can’t be.”
“It’s true. I’d call it random at best. If a book catches my eye, I check it out. If it speaks to me, I read it. Could be anything—English classics, lifestyle, poetry...”
“Poetry? Really...?” I raised an eyebrow, skeptical but imagining him with the sad, old Byron.
“Oh, really, I’m getting heat from the human anatomy girl?” He turned to me, clearly into the banter now.
“Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It just doesn’t seem like you find poetry interesting.”
“You’d be surprised at what I find interesting.” Luke held my gaze a little too long. “I like things that surprise me.” Now it was I who had to avert my eyes.
“See? You’re anall-book genreperson too,” I said, looking outside the plane’s window. We had started moving and would take off in a minute.
“I guess I am.” Luke smiled to himself.
As the engines roared louder, I noticed Luke gripping the armrest tightly, his knuckles turning white.
“Okay, so we’ve covered the books. What about movies? Name one that would surprise me.”
He hesitated for a beat, a smile slowly tugging at his lips.
“There’s this film calledOscar. You may know Sylvester Stallone as the 20th-century action film guy, Rambo, Rocky, and so on. But this is one of his best movies, in my humble opinion, of course. It’s a comedy about a gangster guy in the 1930s who promised his father on his deathbed that he would go straight. And of course, the first day he tries to do that, everything that could go wrong goes wrong. It’s viciously funny.”
“Damn, I have never heard of it. How old is this movie?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.
“1991, I think,” Luke said, his tone nostalgic. “When I was a kid, it was always on TV every New Year’s Day. No idea why, since it’s not about Christmas or New Year’s. But when they stopped airing it, I found it online in the best quality, saved it, and made it my tradition.”
“You mean you put on your big boy pants, eat ice cream, and watch it alone every New Year’s?”
“I never said anything about pants.” He smiled wickedly at me. “But yes, I do. Every year.”
“I guess, sometimes the best traditions are the ones we create ourselves.”
I sighed as the seatbelt sign chimed off with a sharp ping. We were already cruising above the clouds—a fact Luke seemed to notice only now. He glanced around, startled, as if the plane had somehow taken off without his permission. His confused eyebrows and slightly parted mouth made me smile before I could stop myself. I turned my head toward the window, pretending to admire the endless stretch of blue, hoping he hadn’t caught the flicker of amusement on my lips.
The next three hours flew by. We chatted with Alex and Ava, Luke moved to the rest of the group for a bit, and they rotated through our row. I tried reading, but couldn’t focus.
Now, Luke and I were watching a movie together. The first class had an impressive selection, and we settled on Tom Hanks’The Terminal.
Halfway through the movie, I found myself with a drink in hand after all. I might have mentioned that I enjoy gin tonics earlier in the conversation, but this was now my third one, and I was beginning to feel too warm. I took off my jacket and shifted in my seat. A minute passed, but I still felt uncomfortable. I excused myself, nodding at the empty glass in front of me, and headed down the aisle.
