“You have a sick sense of humour,” James says. The mirth in his eyes says he likes it. Which is good because I like it too.
“Everyone has to get their kicks somewhere.” Some people do it on the ground; I do it two hundred feet in the air. Potatoes, potahtoes.
“Aren’t you engaged? Not enough kicks in that?”
My smile spreads over my face, eyes crinkling. I am. I’mgetting married.To a man who turns me inside out in all the best ways. My heart does a fun tap dance that probably, under other circumstances, would mean I’m having some kind of medical episode. Probably an awkward place to have it, and then Anson would have to get us back by himself, and it’s a lot of work to pilot a Hawk solo. I’ve done it a few times; I don’t recommend it.
“The look on your face is disgusting.”
“Don’t be jealous.”
“Of tying myself down to one person? Don’t worry, I’m not.”
Each to their own. I’ve done the dating thing. Trying to work out compatibility, all the “getting to know you” stuff. Then breaking up and doing it all over again. It was fine at the time and meeting new people is always fun.Andbreaking up involves ice cream. Not because I was ever upset, but it’s a good excuse, right? They do it in movies.
Now that I’m with Grady, not a single part of that appeals to me. Maybe the ice cream part, but we have that together now. Even if he complains about the sugar content first before digging in.
He’s changed my life in a way that I’ll never regret and never want to take back. Going home every day to the love of my life? That’s the real dream. Friday night date guaranteed. Okay, wedon’t generally gooutFriday nights, unless we’re visiting family or friends for dinner, but it still counts. Besides, what he does to me with his tongue when we’re at home is way better than any restaurant food. Or… a movie at a cinema, or whatever people do on dates. Bowling?
Getting to marry the one person that completes every part of me is the best thing ever. It’s like walking on water. I don’t really see the appeal of doing that—isn’t swimming in it more fun?—but the sentiment works.
By the time we get back to base a few hours later, I’m exhausted. And hungry. Hangry? No. Being angry isn’t going to convince someone to feed me. What I need is Zach.
My best friend is exactly where I knew he’d be at this time of day—in the hangar and talking shit. Probably working, too, I guess. As an avionics engineer, actually doing his job seems like a plus for me since I go up in the birds he maintains.
Zach grins at me as I approach, some kind of wiring in his hands. “Thought you guys were never coming back.”
“One of them got lost.” Like an overeager puppy bounding into the trees. Ground navigation is hard. I prefer my bird’s-eye view. “I need food. Come with me?”
“Can’t go by yourself?”
“It’s a two-man job.”
Zach snorts, but he gets up and puts his tools away, pushing them to the side so no one can trip.
“Oh, I need to talk to you about something too!” I meant to earlier today but forgot what I wanted to ask.
“That sounds serious.”
Nothing is more serious than getting Grady down the aisle. “We set a date!”
He glances at me, understanding in his dark-brown eyes. “Yeah?”
What the hell does that mean? “Don’t sound so surprised.” I said yes, I have a ring. It’s in my locker with my necklace, but Ihaveit. At least I’m allowed to wear the ring—and I still don’t see why I can’t have something like my necklace around my neck since they can’t even see it—but I don’t want to risk losing the ring when I’m flying, so it’s in my locker. The risk is minimal, but it still exists.
The obvious next step after agreeing to the whole marriage thing is picking a date. And then… all the other steps.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Zach says. “I just meant it takes you twenty minutes to decide if you want tomato or barbecue sauce.”
Is he really bringing that up again? Um and ahonetime over a choice, and everybody remembers. “It was a legitimate choice. Pasties are hard.”
Zach grabs a set of keys from the hooks in the small office of the hangar. “They’re not. The answer is tomato sauce.”
“I’ve seen what you eat; I don’t trust your sauce decisions.”
Zach flicks my ear. “What’s the date? Should I mark it on next year’s calendar with a heart and ‘Lake plus Grady kissing in a tree’?”
“Will that all fit in one square?” Maybe in tiny block writing that can only be seen when squinting.
