Page 11 of In Flight

“Those sure smell good,” Cash says.

“They are good. But they’re not for you.” I swat his hand away when he reaches over.

“Looks like you got plenty in there.”

“I have exactly the right number. Raven would let me have it if I gave one away.” At his expression, I add, “I’ll buy you one next week when I get back.”

“Okay. Fine.”

He pouts for a couple of minutes, but he never holds on to grudges for long. Soon he’s back to his normal self, humming along to the country song on the radio, slightly off-key.

I used to find it adorable. Now it’s slightly annoying.

“Okay,” Cash says as he stops in the drop-off area in front of the airport. He’s got light brown hair and blue eyes and a strong, square frame. “Text when you get there.”

“I will.” I lean over to kiss him. He smells like breath mints. I climb out of his big truck and walk back to get my suitcase, which he’s set down for me.

He’s almost a foot taller than me. At first I liked how small I am in comparison since at five six with pronounced curves, I’ve never felt particularly small. But it’s kind of a pain to kiss him when we’re both standing up, and sometimes my neck gets tired from constantly craning up at his face.

He leans down to kiss me again—very briefly since it’s all we can easily manage if I’m not standing on a step—and I wave as I walk into the airport, double-checking I have both my crocheted bag and my purple roller and that I haven’t dropped anything between the truck and here.

All my possessions are securely in place this time. I glance back to see Cash pulling away from the curb without another look at me.

There’s no reason for all these trivial complaints to surface right now. Cash is a good guy. He doesn’t cheat, and he treats me right. We usually have a good time together.

I don’t feel emotionally close to him, but maybe we need more time for that to happen.

None of this has anything to do with a certain smug seatmate.

When I reach the gate, I glance around, but Isaac is nowhere in view. He’s always running at the last minute. He obviously arrives at the airport after a full day of work the way I do.

The cupcakes do smell good. I’m tempted to chow down on one right now.

Fortunately, the attendant starts calling out boarding groups after only a few minutes, so I don’t have to resist temptation for too long.

There’s still no sign of Isaac as I get up and move through the ticket line.

Maybe he won’t be here after all. Maybe he changed his flight to get away from me.

Maybe all the jittery energy surrounding our interactions is only in my mind. Maybe I’ve poured more of myself into these brief crossings of our paths when it wasn’t at all warranted.

That idea makes my stomach drop with disappointment, and the heaviness remains as I focus on the empty seat beside mine.

It takes an act of will, but I shake it off again.

I’m certain now that he’s not going to be on this flight. He’s gone from my life as abruptly as he appeared. It doesn’t matter.

At all.

I set the bakery box on his seat as I stow my suitcase overhead and then organize myself after I sit down. When I push my bag under the seat in front of me, a pack of tissues, three pencils, my beaded coin purse, a tube of lip gloss, and a couple of spare tampons all spill out because I forgot to zip one of the pockets.

Groaning, I lean over and retrieve my items. I bump my head in the process and jerk—so hard I drop a tampon again. I’m grabbing for it before it slides into the aisle when I see a pair of expensive leather shoes less than a foot away from my hand.

I know who those shoes belong to.

My eyes follow the length of his body as I straighten up. He’s in another suit today, carrying his same suitcase and leather bag. His hair needs to be cut. It’s even messier than it was last week.

He’s arching those dark eyebrows at me with his familiar dry expression.

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