I kissed her first. It wasn’t filthy or epic, just enough to make my chest hurt when I pulled back.
“Text when you get to your gate?” I asked.
“I will.” Her thumb brushed my jaw.
Dylan kissed her next. “If some guy hits on you, tell him you already have people who adore you.”
Her lips curved. “I will.”
Our group got called again. We didn’t have any more excuses.
“Go,” she urged. “Before the plane leaves.”
“You sure?” I asked.
“No,” she answered. “Go anyway.”
We grabbed our carry-ons and stepped into line. I turned around once more. She stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself, watching us.
I lifted my hand.
She lifted hers back.
Then Dylan and I walked down outside toward our plane.
He took the window. I had the middle. The aisle seat stayed empty while people shoved bags into the overhead bins and tried to figure out which row they were supposed to be in.
A flight attendant walked past, checked the bin above us, then grabbed the intercom. “We’re almost ready to depart. We’re just holding for one last passenger.”
Someone a few rows up groaned.
I glanced at my phone. No new text from Faye. She had her own gate, her own flight, her own life pulling her in a different direction.
A few minutes later, the attendant at the front stepped aside to let the last passenger on.
I looked down at my phone, waiting for the text from Faye that she was at her gate. Maybe she stopped for something to drink.
“This is me.”
I looked up, my brain stalling for a second. “What are you doing?”
“Changed my ticket,” Faye answered.
Dylan blinked at her. “You’re coming to Portland?”
“If you want me there,” she replied.
“Yeah,” I answered, a little rough. “We want you there.”
“Good, because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.” She slid into the aisle seat and buckled her seatbelt.
“I was going to text,” she explained. “Then the gate stuff got crazy, and I decided I liked this better.”
Dylan let out a breath that sounded way too close to a laugh. “This is way better.”
“Yeah. It is.”
21
