Page 24 of In Flight

“Way more than you can afford.”

He gives a laugh made up of two gusty exhales and takes a bite of his cupcake.

“I was going to be nice to you today,” I add, “but then you showed your true obnoxious colors. And my good intentions flew out the window.”

“I see.” His mouth twitches as he sips his tea. He’s doing that thing where he appears to focus on his iPad but is still somehow fully engaged with me.

The flight attendant starts the instructional intro just then, and the plane starts moving with a small jerk. Isaac slides the iPad back into the seat pocket, holding his tea in one hand and cupcake in the other. We both silently eat and drink and occasionally give each other sidelong smiles until we’re in the air.

By then the cupcakes and most of the tea are gone. I pull out my knitting while Isaac starts working on a spreadsheet.

I ask him how his job is going, and he asks what my plans are for the weekend. We alternate between chatting and sitting in relaxed silence for more than an hour, and I have a good time.

A really good time.

A far better time than a scenario so simple should ever deliver.

It’s not until I think about Cash that my mood drops.

Why the hell didn’t I break up with him? Then I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about enjoying this time with Isaac.

Maybe—the thought comes to me for the first time with a tidal wave of recognition—maybe my connection to Cash is my safety net. And without it I’d be free-falling into something entirely unknown. Entirely dangerous.

And I’ve never let myself do that before.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, looking over at me fully.

“Nothing. What are you talking about?”

“You tell me. Because you were having a good time, and then something changed.”

“You have no way of knowing that.”

He arches his eyebrows in that smug, shrewd way.

I scowl. “I thought you were the one who never picks up vibes.”

“I didn’t pick up vibes. I observed details. You got tense. You stopped looking at me. You keep shifting in your seat like you’re uncomfortable. So either you’re not feeling good or you’re upset about something. Either way, something is wrong.”

It’s highly unnerving that he can see so much in me in just a few sidelong glances. “What if I just need to go to the bathroom?”

“Then you would have said so and asked me to get up so you can get out of your seat. You’re not someone who would be embarrassed to ask.”

“No. I wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“So it’s something else, and I want to know what it is.”

“You’re being kind of pushy. We’re not that close. Just because we’ve shared a few flights and a couple of cupcakes doesn’t mean we’re friends or confidantes.”

I expect him to be annoyed the way he’s been before when I put up a stone wall in a conversation. But he’s not. He gives a dry huff of amusement. “Confidantes? Are we in a Victorian novel now?”

“Don’t mock. It’s a perfectly good word. People should use it more.”

“Okay. I’ll see if I can work it into my vocabulary.” He leans toward me slightly. “But I still need to know what you got upset about.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It feels like it is.”

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