Dash strode across the tarmac toward the common room, feeling sad. It made no sense, really, because she’d just landed after a heavenly flight. When she’d been up there she’d forgotten about everything else in her life, but now that her boots were on the ground, it all came back. She’d just enjoyed the most wonderful two weeks of her life. Now that they were over, she felt very much alone.
Her fingertips brushed the two pieces of paper in her pocket. One was a long-awaited letter from Gus. She took it out and read through it again, reminding herself that in all her misery, she still had a friend.
Dear Dash,
I’m just going to say it: I hope you’re still speaking to me. I am a louse, not writing to you for so long, even with my rotten handwriting. You can go ahead and remind me of that when—if—you write back to me. In fact I encourage you to tell me exactly how angry you are. Anything, as long as you write back.
It’s not that I haven’t been thinking of you. I hope you know that. You and your sister have been my family my whole life, and you’ll never know how much that matters to me. I owe you more than this one very late letter. My excuse is the war is keeping me busy, but I know that doesn’t count because it’s keeping everyone busy. Still, I am sticking to that.
Speaking of the war, I wanted to tell you that when I heard you were out there flying, I was so proud. You got what you always wanted, and I hope you are happy. You deserve it.
Dash, I know about your dad and everything you went through. I cannot imagine how hard that was. Especially without Dot. I’m going to say something now that I know only I can get away with: it must have been horrible for Dot, too. You know how they were, she and your dad. Thick as thieves. To be stuck somewhere, unable to see any of you, it must have torn her apart.
There was a reason for it, Dash. You have to trust in that.
You may never forgive me for being the worst letter writer there ever was, but I am still going to beg you for one thing. Write to your sister. Forgive her. Neither of you is complete without the other. And, selfishly, I need you both.
Fondly,
Gus
P.S. I would love to hear about the planes you’re flying, if you feel inclined to tell me.
Gus’s letter had been a relief, though she was a little curious about how he knew about her father and Dot. He must have written to hermother for her address, and she would have told him about all that, she guessed. The important thing was that he was fine. Hearing from him after so long eased her anger. She wrote back to him right away.
As she tucked Gus’s letter back in her pocket, she pulled out the other, much shorter note.
Can’t stop thinking about you. Yours, Pete
She touched his handwriting, thinking how surprisingly elegant it was for a man.
She missed Pete terribly. She missed the way he made her feel like the only woman on earth.
Dash had always assumed she would do the right thing and wait until she was married before she shared a bed with a man, but with Pete, one thing had evolved so naturally into the next, she’d never felt the slightest hint of shame. He was gentle with her but sure, self-assured and strong, but never to the point where she was afraid. His desire for her delighted her, as did the lines and curves of his smooth skin under her hands. Falling asleep in his arms was the safest, most comforting place on earth, and she wished they could stay like that forever. She belonged there.
After that first night, they’d seen each other as often as they could, staying in a small inn near the sea, but there had always been an end in sight. He and his squadron had two weeks’ leave, but those had sped past. They’d taken advantage of every minute they could. Dash had swapped flights with anyone going to Christchurch, and she’d even asked Stella to call in sick for her a couple of times. The last two days of his leave were Dash’s official two days off, and they had clung to each other, unwilling to say goodbye. She never said so, but she had the most horrible feeling that she might never see him again.
“I’ll try to fly in to see you this week,” he promised. She sat on his lap on the innkeeper’s overstuffed armchair, which technically had room for only one. She had him hypnotized, her fingernails etching featherlightcircles over his stubbled cheek and beneath his chin. “I’ll have to. I cannot possibly be expected to go a week without you.”
“You’re a very important RAF pilot.” She sank her nose into his hair, wanting to keep his scent close. “You can’t play with assignments like I can.”
“You’re a very important pilot, too. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“I wish we could go away somewhere,” she mused. “Just you and me. No deadlines, no rules.”
“Where would you like to go?”
She smiled to herself, wondering if this was what love felt like. Real love, like between her mother and father. A love that could withstand years of uncertainty and pain while still being filled with joy simply because they were together. He moved a lock of her hair behind her ear, and she wondered if he was pondering the same thing. Did he love her? Would he always?
“Tell me where, Dash. I will be there for you.”
“Paris,” she said on impulse. “I’ve heard it’s the most romantic place in the world. Or at least it used to be, before the war.”
“Personally, I think this is the most romantic place in the world. Right now, at least.” The dimple on his check deepened when he smiled. “Anywhere, as long as I’m with you. But I’ll take you to Paris, my beautiful girl. I’ll fly you there, all right? Or you can fly me there.”
He was right; the most romantic place of all was wherever they were together, and when they returned to the bed, they reminded each other of that.
A little while later she awoke, sluggish from a sweet doze. With her head still on the pillow, she watched him sleep, taking in the line of his jaw, the dusting of eyelashes on his cheeks. How had this happened? How had she ended up the luckiest girl in the world, flying airplanes and being loved by the most wonderful man? What had she done to deserve all this?
