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We both laugh, and the flight attendant appears to pass out coffee and stale pretzels. I take a couple bags and two cups of coffee, popping both our trays down. Sabrina stirs, sitting up and pushing back her hood.

“Snacks,” I say.

“Someday, you’ll have to fly us first class,” she yawns.

I have some of the acrid coffee. “Never flown first class.”

“Seriously?”

She turns, forehead creasing. I shake my head.

“I’m never comfortable on planes, so I figured it wasn’t worth it.”

She shakes her head, tearing open her pretzels. “God, I love plane snacks. I used to hide mine and take them off the plane when I was little.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’ll buy you a whole box of plane snacks if you want.”

She shakes her head. “No. Then they’re not special anymore.”

We finish our food and coffee in silence. She’s out like a light again, and that leaves me time to think with my notebook in front of me. The man to my left who recognized me didn’t bother me much, not the way it used to. Just a couple months ago, I walked around with my head down, dreading the familiar sound of someone realizing who I am. It’s embarrassing; it makes me feel like I have a target on my chest. I’m never angry with the people, though. They’re good people, just excited.

It just…bothers me.

Today, I feel grounded. It doesn’t bother me much at all.

The soft rush of the plane whirs on. I pick up the chewed on pen and start scribbling. Just like they used to, the words start flowing.

And they flow on and on, until there’s no paper left.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

SABRINA

I wake, Coen gently shaking my arm. He’s on his feet with both our bags in his hand.

“Hey, baby, we’re here,” he says, holding his hand out.

Bleary, I take it, grabbing my headphones. He leads the way out of the empty aisle. I guess he waited until we were the last ones to wake me. I love how considerate he is. It makes me squeeze his hand a little tighter as he leads me off the plane.

“You okay, baby?” he asks as we enter the tiny airport.

“Never better,” I say.

It’s true. Yes, I am terrified of facing Dad, but I’m not scared I’ll back down, because I won’t. All my life, I’ve given up what I wanted so others could be put first. Today, with him, I’m starting fresh. Coen Taylor is staying, come hell or high water. I get to keep him.

“If you get a studio,” I say, “can I get a pool?”

“Baby, I will build you whatever you like.”

I bite my lip, a little skip in my step. A pool in the summer would be real nice. Or maybe an indoor one we could use in the winter too, that’d be even better. Coen leads the way out to the waiting area and crosses the parking lot. He pauses by a big gray truck and starts tapping something into his phone.

“You get a rental?” I ask.

“I bought it and had it dropped off this morning,” he says. The car unlocks, presumably from his phone.