“Sure.”
The moment she settles into her seat, her grip tightens on the armrests and she braces her feet against the floor, ignoring my every question.
“Three point one four one,” she whispers. “Five nine two six five three five eight nine—”
“Sir, I need you to fasten your seatbelt,”the flight attendant interrupts, stopping beside us.
“Seven nine three two three eight four six,” Addie continues, recitingpi.
“Please sit down for take-off,” the flight attendant tells a woman two rows down, throwing Addie off again.
“Eight four six,” I remind her, clipping the seatbelt in place.
“Two six four three three eight three two.”
I lace our fingers. I doubt she feels it while she mutters under her breath, focused on the numbers.
The plane gains speed, intensifying the rattling noises and the shaking beneath our feet. I have a feeling Addie’s not far off puking.
“Five nine two three zero seven eight one.”
Her breathing hitches when the wheels lift off the ground. She gouges her nails into my hand so hard I can feel half-moons digging in, her grip like a vice. Where does she hide that strength?
She’s crushing my bones.
“Seven eight one,” I say, caressing the length of her index finger with my thumb. “Keep going, Addie.”
“Um...”Her voice quivers, barely above a whisper. She furrows her brows, butthe upward motion while the plane climbs isn’t helping her focus. “Six... six...” A small whimper leaves her lips, and her nails break my skin. “Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California...” she mutters, switching to reciting the states.
The flight attendant’s voice breaches the cabin when Addie’s up to Virginia.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign.”
My fingers are numb by the time she loosens her grip, opens her big eyes, and focuses on the seat in front, every breath slow and even.
“Better?” I ask, flexing my fingers to restore circulation. “You want a drink?”
She shakes her head, inhaling again, then pinches her nose to pop her ears. She must’ve swallowed the candy.
“Oh, shit...” she murmurs, taking my hand in hers, gently brushing her thumb over the red, angry marks.
Surprisingly, there’s no blood.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice frail. “You shouldn’t have held my hand.”
“I didn’t expect a bone-crushing grip. You sure you don’t want wine? Maybe champagne?”
“You have a week with me on a yacht where the drinking starts at breakfast. There’ll be plenty of occasions to make a fool of myself and insult you with words you don’t understand.”
A chuckle falls from my lips. “I think I can take it.”
“We have five hours to make sure we haven’t forgotten any details. Better stick to water.” She pulls a complimentary bottle from the holder beside her seat and attempts to unscrew the cap, but her fingers are too stiff.
“Any drinks?”
The flight attendant stops beside us while I open the bottle for Addie.
“Black coffee for me,” I say. “You want anything, baby?”
