Page 8 of Fly with Me

“The airline gets really good deals with Budget.”

“Not why that car company, why are you offering to drive me?”

“Because… you did something great today. You saved a life. And it’s a big deal. And I’m sorry about what happened with the photo. I could tell it made you uncomfortable, and you were a good sport about it.”

“That pilot’s kind of an ass.”

A slight darkening in Stella’s eyes made it obvious that she was in complete agreement with Olive. “We better get going.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have to work tomorrow? Like fly airplanes and keep people alive and in the air?” Olive made a zooming motion with her arm, like an idiot.

“No. I was already going to be in Orlando for a few days anyway, on leave. I go to the Food and Wine Festival every year if I can manage it.” That smile. That perfect smile seemed to make the bustle of the terminal blur around Olive.

“You swear you’re not going to get me in a car, drive off to a dark alley, and axe-murder me?”

“I do swear. Though if that were my plan, I almost certainly wouldn’t tell you about it beforehand—well, at least until I had my axe out and ready.”

Olive rubbed her eyes and mumbled into her palms. “I can check ‘do something impulsive’ off the list.”

“List?”

“Never mind.” Olive’s tears returned without permission. Tears of surprise and gratitude making her voice wobble as she spoke. “Thank you.”

Stella pulled out a small pouch of tissues from her bag, without even having to dig for it. She probably had one of those purse organizer things.

Olive touched Stella’s elbow. “Thank you. Really, really. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“You’re welcome.” Stella grabbed her phone, and her thumbs pretended to type. “Now to find the nearest dark alley…”

Olive almost laughed.

“Kidding. Let’s go.”

What were the odds that Olive could make it through a long drive a foot away from a woman she was attracted to without completely embarrassing herself?

Slim.

Chapter 5

Stella came out of the bathroom stall wearing black jeans that hugged tightly to an objectively amazing ass and a casual but elegant boatneck sweater. She’d swapped her patent flats for spotless white sneakers. Even in her “casual clothes” she looked like an Ann Taylor model. Her hair was down, out of the tight bun. It cascaded over her shoulders in elegant waves. She was so not Olive’s type—except in her complete unavailability.

“Are you okay, Olive?”

Fuck. She’d been ogling her. And something about the way Stella said her name made Olive want to stare deeply into her eyes and ask her to say it again. This was a totally normal feeling when one was tired.

“I’m fine.”

Stella cocked her head to the side. “Fine like before, when you were actually having a terrible crisis, or actually fine?”

Olive adjusted the shoulder strap of her bag as it slid down her arm again. “Actually fine. Thank you again. I seriously don’t know how—”

“It’s fine.” Stella laughed. “Stop thanking me.”

Olive looked at the mirror and untwisted her hair from her topknot before pulling it back up into a pouf. There were dark purplish circles beneath her eyes. Why did she look like this after a flight? Was it something about the airport bathrooms that made people sallow? A quick glance at the woman beside her confirmed that it was not, in fact, the mirror.

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