I type back.
It's a professional development opportunity. And yes, black-tie means actual tie.
I own a tie.
One?
It's a very nice tie.
I laugh despite myself, and start building a mental packing list.
***
When we board the flight on Friday, the commuter plane is smaller than I expected. Two seats on each side of the aisle, overhead compartments barely big enough for a backpack. I slide into the window seat and pull out my tablet to review the gala's donor list.
Tom drops into the seat beside me, shoulders tight, jaw set.
I glance over. "Why do you look tense?"
"I'm fine."
"You're gripping the armrest."
He looks down at his hand like he didn't realize it was there, then forces his fingers to relax. "I hate flying."
I blink. "You? The guy who takes international shoots?"
"Doesn't mean I like it. I just tolerate it."
The engines rumble to life. Tom's knuckles go white again.
I set the tablet down and turn toward him. "How many flights have you taken in the last year?"
He thinks for a moment, eyes on the seat back in front of him. "I don't know. Twenty? Thirty?"
"And you hate every one of them."
"Pretty much."
The plane starts taxiing, the small cabin rattling loudly around us. Tom's breathing shallows.
I keep my voice quiet. "Maybe that's a sign you should stay on the ground more."
His head turns. He looks at me like I just said something he wasn't expecting—not the words themselves, but the way I said them. Gently. Without agenda.
"Maybe," he says.
I reach over and slide my fingers through his. His hand closes around mine immediately, grip tight enough that I feel the pressure in my knuckles.
With a heavy, mechanical roar, the plane lifts. The floor shakes, but Tom just closes his eyes and holds on, not opening them again until we're level in the air.
His grip loosens gradually, but he doesn't let go. Neither do I. Not until the seatbelt sign turns off.
***
The boutique hotel sits right on the water, all whitewashed wood and blue shutters. I stand in the lobby reviewing the gala program while Tom handles check-in at the front desk.
The clerk types something, then smiles brightly. "Mr. Bennett, you're in room 314. One room, two queen beds, ocean view. Enjoy your stay!"
