“Good. And keep us up to date, okay? We want daily texts. And a lot of dog pictures. You can’t send too many.”
I snort. “Noted.”
As we’re saying goodbye, Sloane shouts that she’s going to video call me in a few. I stand—much to Grey’s chagrin when he’s forced to move an inch to let me—just as Nico brings over a cup of tea and hands it to me. It was easier to look at himbeforeI dreamed about him on top of me, holding my hands down, and?—
“Vanilla chai,” he says, and I sniff it with a groan. Sweet, spicy, cozy, caffeinated. Perfection in a cup.
“God, that smells amazing. Thank you. My sister’s going to video call me, so I’ll take it upstairs.”
Before I turn away, he says, “I’ll make you breakfast while you’re on the phone.”
“Oh, you don’t have to cook for me. I can throw something together when I’m done.”
Nico narrows his eyes. It’s an expression I’m already growing familiar with. It’s not angry or frustrated; I think it’s his version of curious. Like he’s trying to peek beyond the surface, determined to figure me out.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” he says after a moment, his tone leaving no room for argument. Not that that usually stops me. I’ve never liked being told what to do, especially by men. But Nico… something about it is weirdly calming.
My dads taught me to question everything, to make sure my thoughts and feelings were always perfectly clear. They knew I wanted to be a pilot like them, which meant they knew I was going into a male-dominated workspace where everyone was going to judge me by my last name, and they did their best to prepare me for it.
As a child, I was called “bossy” when the boys who acted the same way were “leaders.” As a teenager, I pissed them off to no end when I wouldn’t take no for an answer and tried to talk my way into everything. But when I introduced myself on my first day at the Skylark Airlines Company Indoctrination program, and several of the other pilots commented on how nice it must have been to not have to try to get my job, I was prepared.
I was one of eight pilots who started that day. Only six of us passed our initial training, and only three of us are still flying—if I’m still counting myself.
Earl follows me upstairs and hops onto the bed as I close the door. He hasn’t left me much space, but I squeeze beside him and open my laptop just as Sloane’s face flashes up onmy screen. She constantly changes her contact picture, and she has her tongue out in this one. I have no idea when she did it.
“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed off are you that I’m going to be lying on a beach in a few days, and you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere?” Sloane says, forgoing a greeting entirely.
“Uh… zero? I’m not a beach person. You know that.”
“Right. But you’re not a snow person, either,” she points out.
It’s true that I usually don’t like the extreme hotorthe extreme cold, but Nico’s cabin feels different. “It’s cozy enough here that I don’t mind. I like it. It’s like something out of a Christmas movie.”
Literally. Wintermore is known for being featured in a Christmas movie twenty-something years ago calledA Christmas Wish in the Mountains. My dads love it, but I’m not much of a Christmas movie person, so I’ve never seen it myself. There’s a sequel coming out this fall, and they’ve already been talking about throwing a watch party, so I suppose I’ll have to get caught up.
Sloane hums, tossing her hair over her shoulder and frowning. “Still, it’s shitty that we don’t get to have our vacation together. I was looking forward to some sister time.”
“We live together, Slo.” I laugh at her overexaggerated pout. Sloane moved in with me after the crash. At first, I stayed with my dads while I recovered from the physical stuff—I had a concussion, whiplash, and a dislocated shoulder, and my dads fussed over me until I couldn’t takeit anymore. They weren’t okay with me going back to my own apartment, despite it only being a half hour away, until I agreed to let Sloane stay with me. She moved a bunch of her stuff in, then sent me half of my rent payment a couple months later and told me she was staying.
“Semantics,” she scoffs, waving me away. “Now, tell me every single thing that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. I’m already having Este-withdrawals.”
I set my laptop down and lie on my stomach while I recount the mostly uneventful drive through Wyoming to Wintermore. Sloane loves to chat. About anything and everything. I’m not sure I’ve ever known her to be quiet for more than a few minutes—she’s a nightmare to watch anything with, and I can’t read when she’s in the room. It doesn’t matter what we’re talking about, she’s completely engaged the whole time.
She’s been my best friend since the second she existed. People have come and gone over the years, but Sloane and I will always be each other’s person.
“Holy shit. How ironic would it have been if you’d survived a plane crash just to die driving your dumb yellow Mini Cooper.” Another reason I love her—she’s the only one who doesn’t pretend the plane crash didn’t happen.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking the whole time! And don’t call Mimi dumb. She got me up here.”
“True. Fine, I’ll consider not leaving as many empty takeout coffee cups in her for a little while to thank her for keeping you alive. So, what’s Nico like?”
“Nico is…” I search for something that’snot just me blurting out that I had a sex dream about him last night, and land on: “Intense. But in a good way.”
Sloane tilts her head, frowning. “What the hell does that mean?”
“He’s hard to explain, you know? I barely know him. He’s not chatty, but when he does speak, it feels intentional. And he has an authoritative energy that’s… interesting. Like, he makes you want to listen to him. Do you know what I mean?”
“No. I have no idea what you mean. What are you trying to say, Es?”
