She wanted to shoutThank you, thank you, thank you!without really knowing who or what she thanked. A single Austen line echoed through her as though in response: “Till this moment I never knew myself.”
Jane blinked away the wetness and turned back to Henry.His eyes were still squeezed shut. She pried his right hand off the armrest, placed it on the back of her neck, and held it there. He opened his eyes to look at her with curiosity. She lifted the armrest so nothing was between them and held his face with her other hand. It was a fine face, a jaw that fit in her palm. She could feel the whiskers growing back that he’d shaved that morning. Although his expression tried to soften as he looked at her, it couldn’t shake off the terror, which made Jane laugh.
“How can you be so cavalier?” he asked. “Tens of thousands of kilograms expected to just float in the air?”
At last, she pulled his face to hers, and she kissed him. He moaned in surrender, his muscles relaxing.
“I knew I really liked you,” he said against her lips.
His fingers pulled her closer, and his other hand reached for her waist. His kisses became hungry, and she guessed that he hadn’t been kissed for a long time—at least, not for real. Neither had she, as a matter of fact. Maybe this was the very first time. And if so, it was a very good time. Henry was both savory and sweet. He was the whole meal with dessert.
The captain made some announcement, but Jane didn’t open her eyes, and Henry put his hands on her cheeks, and in silence they agreed to pretend that not only were they not on a plane at all, but they were alone together. Sometimes they laughed, lips to lips. Sometimes they spoke, foreheads touching. And then the kisses returned.
There was little similarity to the empty, lusty making out she’d played at with Martin. Kissing Henry was more than just plain fun. Later, when they would spend many straight hours conversing in the dark, Jane would realize that Henry kissed the way he talked—his entire attention taut, focused, intenselyhers. His touch was a conversation, telling her again and again that only she in the whole world really mattered. His mouth left hers to explore her face, her hands, her neck.
And when he spoke, he called her Jane.
Her stomach dropped as they fled higher into the sky, and they kissed recklessly for hundreds of miles, until Henry was no longer afraid of flying.
