Page 72 of Stranded

The minute he walks in, I feel safe. More than that. I feel like I can fly again.

I don’t even care that Alph’s dressed in torn old jeans and a paint-stained T-shirt, like he’s been digging around the backyard shed.

I’m pretty sure he actually has. There’s bolt cutters that look like they’re from his own tool kit, and underneath… chains, in all different sizes.

“I stopped by the repair shed?—”

I don’t care. I grab him by both cheeks and haul him down to kiss him on the mouth.

Alph goes rigid with surprise, but only for half a second. Then he melts and wraps his arms around my waist, kissing me back until I’m out of breath and dizzy.

“Now, how can I help?”

I don’t even bat an eye. “Cut it for me,” I tell him, beckoning one of my models over. “I’ll tell you where.”

Alph grabs the bolt cutters from the top of the box, and I peer down into it. The chains are different sizes and colours. There’s a bunch that looks similar to what I’d picked out… but there’s other stuff that looks used.

That’s what I go for first. I grab a reel and set to work.

Time vanishes as I call over each model, one at a time. I work my way around them, standing back to judge what I should use and where. I drape and re-drape, stitch furiously, and point out links for Alph to cut.

And then… as quickly as the rush starts, it’s over.

“Thirty minutes to runway,” comes the announcement over the intercom. “Quiet backstage, please. The doors are opening. Your models should be ready.”

Just in the nick of time.

“Are we done?” Alph asks me.

I breathe out a sigh, dropping the last length of chain back into the crate as I sink onto the stool in front of my workbench. “We’re done.”

“I’d better get back out there, then,” Alph says, and then he grins ruefully as he looks down at himself. “If they’ll even let me sit out there.”

I can’t help giggling. It’s ironic that I don’t have anything to spare…

Except, I do.

“The shirt,” I gasp, and Alph perks up as I laugh.

It was the last thing in the suitcase last night. I wanted to bring it with me today to remind me how far I’ve come.

I didn’t plan on anyone wearing it.

“Here,” I tell him, handing the damn thing over to Alph. That familiar feeling of embarrassment is back—tenfold worse, knowing he’s going to be sitting there in the audience wearing it.

But when I watch him put it on, something changes.

It’s way too big for me, which means it fits Alph. The red lace picks something up in his hair, and with the ripped jeans and T-shirt…

It’s like he planned this look on purpose.

“Does it look all right?” Alph asks.

“Yes, but—stop,” I laugh under my breath, slapping his hands away before he can button it up all the way. I pop most of them open again. “Leave the T-shirt showing.”

He squints in confusion and gives up, shrugging. “I trust you.”

My throat suddenly feels tight. I carefully take his hands in mine. His palms are covered in grease from the chains and bolt cutters, but I turn them palm-up, kissing them one at a time.

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