Page 42 of Fly with Me

“When?”

“How about tomorrow? I could come to your place. If that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, I’d be totally into that. I mean, it sounds good. Logistics. Schedules.” Olive’s nails clacked a nervous timpani beat that she hoped Stella couldn’t hear through the phone.

A muffled snort came through the door, so Olive kicked it, causing Derek to curse loudly.

“I have no idea how to thank you for this.” Stella’s voice still sounded embarrassed.

“You helped me get to the race. You helped me survive the weekend. I owe you.”

“You really don’t. I—um—had a great time too.”

Olive cradled the phone close. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Knees unsteady, Olive sat on her vintage chartreuse bath mat. “So, I’ll text you my address. Is six okay? I can make dinner.”

“You don’t have to feed me. I can pick something up.”

“I like cooking for people.” She hugged her arms tighter. “Please?”

A pause.

“If you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am.”

Stella made a couple of noncommittal noises as if she were deciding whether or not to tell Olive something. “So, I have celiac.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” More than fine. “I’m used to cooking gluten-free. How did I not notice this when we were eating together?”

“Disney’s one of the best places for me. I know what I can eat there. They’re great with special diets.”

“That’s why my brother liked it too.” Olive smiled broadly, then caught sight of her ridiculous expression in the mirror and tried to clamp down on it.

“Your brother had celiac?”

“Uh-huh.” Olive was already planning the perfect menu.

“You’re still good with cooking? I know it can be a major burden.”

“It’s not. Stella, you could never be a burden.”

Chill.

“Thank you. So, I’ll—um—see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Olive repeated through a smile so wide her face hurt. “Come hungry.”

She held the phone tight to her chest for a minute until a smack on the door jolted her from her happy fantasies. They weren’t even dirty ones. Just mental images of Stella sliding Olive’s signature gluten-free dish on a fork. Then Stella would tell her how delicious everything was before dragging her to the bedroom, ripping off her clothes, and—

Okay. Maybe they were a little dirty.

Derek’s voice interrupted the fantasy. “Olive Murphy, I swear to God, if you don’t—”

Olive swung the bathroom door open, narrowly missing hitting Derek in the face. Six eyes were fixed on Olive if you counted Gus’s. All were expectant.

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