Page 29 of Demons

I was right. Background check. Thatcher didn’t remember our past. Or me.

I nodded. “That makes sense.”

His gaze dropped to his phone as the pilot came over the intercom and informed us we were ready for takeoff. I looked for a seat belt, but couldn’t find one. It seemed unsafe to take off without a seat belt. I heard a low chuckle from Thatcher and glanced up at him. He stood and stepped over the table between us, then leaned down close to me. I stopped breathing. He’d never gotten this close to me before.

“There,” he said, his mouth near my ear.

I dropped my eyes to see he had pushed a button I hadn’t noticed because it blended into the leather seat. The metal tip of the seat belt had slid out. He stood back up, and I finally took a deep breath.

Keeping my focus on buckling myself, I didn’t look at him as he moved away. But his scent lingered, and I regretted not inhaling while he’d been so close to me. He smelled like cigarette smoke, which I normally didn’t care for, but mixed with spice and a woodsy scent, it was delicious.

The plane began to speed up, and I gripped the armrests. Taking off wasn’t my favorite. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I relaxed my shoulders and focused on my lap.

“You’re not afraid of flying, are you?” Thatcher asked.

Guessed I didn’t look as calm as I had been trying to appear. “It’s just takeoff,” I told him.

“It’s fairly safe, little doll,” he drawled.

My head snapped up, and I stared at him. He’d called me little doll. He remembered me. My heart was beating fast for reasons that had nothing to do with the takeoff or this plane.

The corner of his lips quirked. “That worked.”

I blinked, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he did remember me. Was he the one who had brought the cookies? Had he done it all those years ago?

“What?” I asked, not sure what he meant by that comment.

“You’re not thinking about takeoff anymore,” he replied, then glanced toward the window. “And we are almost ready to level out.”

He was right, but that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. I had questions, but I didn’t know if I could ask them. His mood changed too quickly. Being alone with him in this cabin for the duration of our flight kept me from blurting out the things I wanted to know.

Had he known who I was when they hired me?

“I, uh, I didn’t think you remembered me. It’s been seven years … or something like that,” I said, watching him closely. I didn’t want him to know I knew exactly how long it had been.

He looked amused. “I have an excellent memory.”

“You haven’t mentioned it before,” I pointed out.

I watched as he leaned forward and picked up an empty glass in front of him.

“What would you have had me say?”

I didn’t know. Nice to see you again. How has life been? No, none of that sounded like something Thatcher would say. In fact, his not bringing it up sounded exactly like how he would have responded.

I shrugged.

The flight attendant arrived, carrying a tray, and set it down on the table between us, then placed two small plates beside it. “Can I get you anything else to drink?” she asked me.

“More water,” I replied, then turned my attention to the tray of food.

The sight of lemon crinkle cookies caused me to let out a small gasp at the significance of them. Did this mean all those cookie deliveries had been him? It was still hard to believe Thatcher would do that. Considering what I had come to know of him, that didn’t fit. He wasn’t kind or thoughtful, yet there were my favorite cookies, surrounded by fresh berries and fancy cheeses.

“Another Bloody Mary?” I heard the lady ask.

“Just a water for me too,” Thatcher replied.

I waited until she walked away before lifting my eyes to look at him.

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