Page 155 of Aviatrix

“I appreciate it anyway,” I say, quieter now.

He doesn’t respond. Just stares ahead, arms crossed, as the sun crests over the mountains to the east.

A minute later, the jet touches down.

And there she is, stepping onto the tarmac with that signature auburn hair pulled into a side braid. My throat constricts. My vision blurs.

She’s here. She’s real.

She’s really here.

We hug, and I don’t realize I’m crying until Mom pulls back and brushes my tears away with her fingers.

“It’s so good to see you, my girl,” she says warmly, then her gaze shifts to Lark. She smiles and steps in to hug him, too, blurring the lines even more.

I take a step back, suddenly feeling exposed. Mom doesn’t know Lark cheated. Or that I spent the night with Eli. Or that I’m currently wearing his clothes.

“Are you hungry?” Lark asks her.

She dips her chin. “Very. And I could use a cup of coffee.”

“Kin,” Lark says, glancing my way, “do you want to take her to the mess hall?”

“You’re coming with us,” Mom insists. “Come on.”

Lark thanks his team, shaking their hands one by one, before falling in step beside us as we make our way down the long hallway.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper to Mom, and she wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“It was a long drive,” she breathes out, and something about the way she says it makes me pause. Like there’s more behind those words than she’s letting on.

As we enter the mess hall, my eyes immediately land on Eli. His gaze snaps to mine the moment we walk in. He’s sitting at a table with a few hangar crew members, a plate of food in front of him.

My mouth goes dry.

I want to sit with Eli. I want to reintroduce him to Mom. I want this to be easy.

But it isn’t.

“The pancakes smell delicious,” Mom says, breaking through my thoughts.

Lark notices Eli the moment we enter, then pastes on a smile for Mom. “Right this way, Kath.”

We grab trays. Eli and I steal glances at each other across the mess hall like we’re stuck in a cold war neither of us asked for. I should just tell Mom. That Lark cheated on me with his secretary. That Eli’s back and he’s my Burning House Theory—the one who’d run into a blazing inferno for me even if it meant getting scorched. I should tell her all of it.

But then Lark steps in front of me, blocking my path to her.

“The blueberry compote is divine,” he says, turning on the charm like he’s hosting brunch at a country club.

Ugh. I forgot what a kiss-ass he can be.

I take the tray he hands me, trying not to scowl. Even after everything Eli and I did last night, after all the heat and closeness, I’m not that hungry. My appetite’s been replaced with a coil of nerves in my gut.

Still, I grab a bowl of fruit and a few sausage links. Enough to keep moving forward.

Lark keeps the conversation surface-level—the weather on her drive, how many others caravanned inland, whether her neighbors took the same route. He’s gathering intel like he’s planning a counterattack.

Mom answers, but vaguely. I can tell the whole ordeal gutted her—leaving everything behind, not knowing if she’d ever return—but she was the wife of a decorated pilot who went missing. She knows how to keep her chin up, how to perform calm for the sake of others. When we’re alone, she’ll tell me the truth. That’s the conversation I want.