“We haven’t seen each other.” I push off the counter and walk to my bedroom. “He’s been with your husband.”
“And?” she prompts, impatience layered over concern.
“We won’t have a Monday dinner before we leave.” I lower myself onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what’s what.”
She exhales slowly, understanding immediately. “So you’re going straight to a runway with no reset.”
“Yes.”
A soft laugh leaves her. “Tragic.”
“This isn’t funny,” I protest, staring at the suitcase near the door.
“I’m not making fun of you.” The humor fades from her tone. “Are you scared you misread everything?”
“You weren’t there.” My fingers trace the seam of my comforter.
“I didn’t need to be,” she insists. “Fact of the matter is, he specifically invited you andonlyyou onto his plane. He could have offered to fly all of us over, and he didn’t.”
“He’s decisive,” I murmur.
“With work,” she counters, and I can almost visualize her lifting a brow.
I recline into my pillows and stare at the ceiling. Adrenaline pumps through my body and I can barely breathe. “Oh, God. What if you’re right and Ididmisread the situation?”
“Sky,” she soothes softly, “don’t be scared he’ll pull back.”
“I’m not.” I swallow. “I’m scared I won’t.”
She laughs. “It’s about time you told him you need a repeat.”
“Except, I don’t want to ruin our Mondays.” I glance out the window at the Space Needle glittering in the distance.
“For God’s sake, Sky. Monday isn’t sacred,” she replies firmly. “It’s comfortable. You’re not moving forward if you stagnate in a friendship when you want more.”
She has a point. However, status quo has kept me steady for years.
It’s also kept me safe.
My phone vibrates on my thigh. I glance at the screen.
Zach.
“Hold on.” I bolt upright.
Zach: I’ll meet you at the jet at 7:30. Boeing Field. Clay Lacey Aviation.
Meet you at the jet. No car ride together. No easing in.
“He just texted,” I tell Marisol.
“And?” she queries.
“He wants me to meet him at the plane.” I pace a groove in my hardwood floor.
She releases a low sound. “Oh.”
“Exactly.”
