Page 19 of Ticket to You

“How do you feel? How does the helmet fit?” I ask, grabbing the top of Ophelia’s helmet and shaking it from side to side, jostling her head around a bit more wildly than I need to just to see if I can make her laugh. “Feels secure.”

I try to keep a straight face, but I can’t fight my smile for long when I’m looking at Ophelia all decked out in cycling gear. She stands gangly and awkward, like a teen who just went through a growth spurt.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Ophelia grumbles, smacking me across the chest with the back of her hand.

Ophelia spends an hour with me trying on clothes she would “rather burn than wear.”

“One last thing,” I say, still not ready to say goodbye. I guide her deeper into the store, this time to the display by the rock wall. “I need to see what size you are for a harness.”

To be fair, if there’s anything I feel I should take seriously at REI, it’s finding things that will keep Ophelia safe. And a harness is at the top of my list.

Ophelia rolls her eyes at me, but is too tired to protest.

“Try this one on,” I instruct, grabbing one near us.

“This looks like some kind of home-birthing device,” Ophelia says, deadpan, stepping into the holes as I guide her feet.

She pulls the harness up until it hangs loosely above her hips. Then, I get down on one knee in front of her to adjust the fit.

“Abrams, I’m flattered, but this all is happening way too soon. We should at least go on a date before you propose.”

Tightening my lips to keep from laughing, I use one hand to lift the harness around her waist and the other hand to hold it in place.

I’ve helped countless people into harnesses, but my stomach knots up as I move around Ophelia, adjusting each strap. My hands are practically burning when I’m tightening them around her upper thighs. I have to mentally replay the night of the holiday party to keep my mind straight.

She hates you. You humiliated her.

The harness isn’t fully adjusted, but it’s close enough for me to know it’ll fit.

“Does that feel good?” I ask.

Ophelia snaps her head up, her cheeks bright red. “What?”

“Your harness…does it feel okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s–it’s fine.”

“That’s it then.” I shake my hands out, trying to forget the feeling of her under my hands. “Ophelia Brooks, tonight, you’ll be on your way to Europe.”

11

OPHELIA

I stay homethe rest of Thursday, working furiously to line up interviews, organize my gear, and pack my bags all at the same time. Gemma predicted I would go most of the day without breaking to get a proper meal, so she comes by, takeout in hand, an hour before I leave for the airport to help me finalize everything.

I’ve had my jaw clenched all day, and by now it aches, but I still bite down on my teeth. Adam has an effect on me like no one else. Just thinking back to this morning makes my skin flush with heat.

“Adam comes across as cold at first, I know, but I honestly think most of that is because he’s an observer,” Gemma says, double-checking my camera bag for me.” He’s incredibly analytical. I swear every word he says is carefully selected, perfectly methodical. Just…try to get to know him. Even if you only ask him one question a day.”

Before I can counter Gemma’s points, my phone rings. In all caps, Jane Sommerland’s name is on display. I hold the phone up to Gemma. Her eyes flash with mild panic, but she shoots me an unconvincing thumbs up.

I take three slow breaths before answering. “Hello, Miss Sommerland.”

“I just looked over the itinerary you sent this morning,” Jane says in her usual crisp voice. “You are assisting Mr. Abrams on his shoots and interviews, no?”

“I am,” I say, my palms suddenly warm. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Seeing all of this…I feel foolish for sending you to helpOutdoorsy. Paragliding, rock climbing…tsk, tsk. Perhaps we should find someone to take your place, and you can do something more…your tempo.”

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