“Travis,” his mother called.
He tried the box-breathing thing Rachel had showed him. It never really seemed to work.
“Try this for me, sweetie.” She lifted a toaster tart to his mouth.
He shook his head. “I’m late. Gotta get to Rachel.”
“One bite. Tell me what you think.” Evelyn tried again, holding the pastry only millimeters from his mouth. “It’s for the airline.”
“Seriously, I’ll try it later.”
“When is the last time you ate?” she asked, following him as he moved to the elevator, still holding the tart to his mouth.
“Lunch, Mama.” He pressed the button to call the elevator.
“You go too long between meals.” She did not move the pastry from in front of his mouth. “There’s a correlation between sugary treats and the pleasure center of the brain. One bite produces oxytocin, dopamine, and raises your serotonin levels. I think if you ate the product we produce more often, you’d be a much happier man.”
He was a very happy man, thank you.
She didn’t move the pastry from his mouth. Fine.
He took a bite. Then he gagged.
Her newest Puffle Yum creation was not good. At all.
Pastry dough with some kind of cream filling that held a ridiculously unappealing mouthfeel. The mini chocolate chips in the filling were not helping matters at all.
“What is in that?” he asked, barely able to swallow the concoction.
“Cinnamon toast with chocolate cannoli filling,” she said with pride, as though this were a good thing. “The perfect pie for the sky.”
Travis did not believe in putting cannoli in a pop-up toaster. He had some standards. He also had dinner plans with Rachel.
“Let’s rethink this one.” He gave the remaining tart a glare before stepping into the elevator.
He beat foot out of the office. Then he hit every construction zone in downtown Denver while wishing he had grabbed a bottle of water to delete the taste of the toaster tart from his tongue.
He had texted Rachel before he left the office, but she didn’t respond.
Not that he expected her to, given that she’d made a new habit of keeping her phone away from the dinner table.
Rachel now preferred to give her full focus to whatever it was she was doing.
This new philosophy of hers worked out well for him, quite often. Especially when they were together in her bedroom.
“Rachel?” he called from the front door of her house, toeing off his shoes.
Usually, her house was filled to the brim with noise, and kids, and dogs when he arrived. Tonight it was quiet. Lately, Brady had been the first to barrel into him because they’d been going flying on the weekends.
Brady was a natural.
Rachel had warmed to the flying. She said something about how Brady had found his “thing” and she would embrace it.
The look on the kid’s face was all smiles when he talked about his favorite airplanes—to anyone who would listen.
Embracing her son’s adoration of aviation did not, however, mean going up in the single engines herself.
Yet. Travis still held hope. Probably misplaced hope, given Rachel’s unwavering thoughts on the subject.
