“You’re wrong,” she says, only to let loose a rough exhale when the plane begins to shake. Her eyes flinch shut.
“You okay?”
“Yup,” she wheezes.
“Not a fan of turbulence?”
“Who is?” she squeaks, wrinkling her nose.
I fight the smile threatening to appear as I shift closer to her. “We’re over the mountains?—”
“You can see out the window from over there?” she gasps raggedly, and I lose the battle. My grin is immediate.
“So it’s just hot air rising,” I continue, my voice soft. “It’ll be over soon.”
“Promise?”
“On my pilot’s license.”
A tiny snort escapes her, and her lips twitch. Finally, she sneaks a peek at me with one eye open and holds my gaze. “Thanks.”
My smirk eases into a softer smile in response.
“You’re wrong, by the way,” she says.
“About the mountains?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” she hedges. “I was talking about my first impression of you. Literally the first thing I thought was how cute you are.”
My brow lifts. “You think I’m cute?”
“What?” Her lips twist into a cheeky smirk as she runs her thumb against my bicep. “Oh, come on, Pilot. You’ve never had anyone call you cute before?”
“Unless you count my mom,” I say dryly, “not really.”
“Not even your ex?” She leans in. “No wonder she’s just your ex-girlfriend and not your ex-fiancée.” In an instant, her smile slips, and she straightens herself, pulling away from me. “Shit. Sorry. I just remembered you guys broke up a year ago?—”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” For a brief moment, I hesitate. But there’s something so warm and reassuring about her that the words come easily. “I changed a lot. I wasn’t the same guy I was when we first started dating. We were together for four years and fizzled out by the end. She still wanted fun and excitement, but I wanted security and stability, so I worked allthe time. I think we would have—shouldhave—broken up a lot sooner had we realized how incompatible we became.”
“Oh.” Her hand lands on my forearm this time, and she spares me a sympathetic look. “But you wanted to propose to her, regardless?”
I let out an awkward chuckle. I don’t know how to explain to her the pressure I get from my mom to get married, settle down, and provide her with a plethora of grandchildren for her to spoil rotten.
Or that my ex didn’t want kids, which is something we should have discussed earlier in our relationship.
“You wanted to marry your ex, didn’t you?”
“Oof. Touché,” she says. “Maybe we should stop talking about our exes and start discussing where you’d take me to dinner should we run into each other again.”
“Should we run into each other again?” I echo, and she leans in closer, strands of her long hair sweeping against my shoulder.
“Atthatpoint, it’s fate throwing us a sign that you should know I don’t mind going Dutch,” she says, “but I do believe innotkissing on the first date.”
My head inclines as my voice drops to a low and scratchy sound. “Everything else is fair game, though?” I grin even harder when she swats my arm. “Such as walking you to your door?”
“You are such a gentleman,” she deadpans.
“A gentleman who believes in waiting until the second date—” Her laughter cuts me off, and her hand slaps against her cheek haphazardly while she beams at me with crinkled eyes and the brightest grin. “To walk you to your door, of course.”
