“I’ll take my chances.”
We walk toward a low building, the hum of something mechanical in the distant growing louder the closer we get.
My steps slow. “Wait.”
He glances back. “What?”
“That’s—” I gesture toward the sound “—that’s not?—”
The realization hits all at once.
My eyes widen. “No.”
His mouth curves, just slightly.
“No,” I repeat, pointing at him now. “You did not?—”
“Maybe,” he says.
“Oh my God.”
I turn toward the open space beyond the building—and there it is.
A helicopter. Sitting on a pad like this is a completely normal Tuesday night activity.
“Douglas,” I breathe, turning back to him. “What is this?”
“You said you’ve lived in Vegas your whole life, but you’ve never seen it from the air.”
I blink.
“Well,” he continues, like this is no big deal at all, “that seemed like something worth fixing.”
I stare at him. At the helicopter. Then back at him.
“You’re insane,” I decide.
“Possibly.”
“This is not a normal first date.”
“You didn’t want normal.”
I open my mouth to argue. Then I close it. Because, he’s not wrong.
“I hate how much I like this,” I sighs.
He smiles, and this time, it’s not subtle. “This is going to be fun.”
There’s a small waiting area set up off to the side—comfortable seating, low lighting, the distant whir of rotors as one helicopter lifts off into the night sky.
I watch it go, my chest tightening in a way that feels suspiciously like excitement.
“Okay,” I say, turning back to him. “This is—this is really cool.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I do. I just…” I shake my head. “I was expecting dinner. Maybe drinks. Not—this.”
