Page 13 of In Flight

“That I don’t know. But if she is who I’m visualizing, it could definitely be more than once.”

“She’s not who you’re visualizing. She can occasionally be a little frivolous, but she’s got a good heart. She’s excited about her wedding and making the most of the experience. Why shouldn’t she?”

“I never said she shouldn’t.”

I gape. “You sat right there and told me I need to push back against selfish asks!”

“Believe it or not, one can enjoy the experience without demanding that loved ones go to unreasonable lengths to indulge you.”

I really don’t like that lofty tone he’s using. Dismissive. As if my family and I and everything else about me are beneath him. “I bought five cupcakes and am taking them to her. It’s not unreasonable!”

“If you say so.”

“You really are an infuriating person. Did you know that?”

“I believe that would be a matter of perspective.”

“I bet I’m not the first person to tell you that you are. Am I?”

“It’s been mentioned occasionally,” he admits with a little twitch of his lips. He’s staring at his screen in that focused way he has, but I catch a quick sidelong look at me.

“That’s what I thought. I bet it’s a near-universal assessment of your character.”

“Not quite universal. Has anyone ever told you you’re rather annoying yourself?”

“Very rarely. Most people either like me or don’t think about me at all.”

“And the few who do find you annoying?”

“They’re usually ultra-organized type-A people who pride themselves on their deductive power but are incapable of appreciating creativity.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Uh-huh.”

I bite back a groan and blow out my frustration. “Okay. We haven’t even gotten off the ground yet, and we’re already arguing about silly things. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like babysit the cupcakes.”

I almost snap back but manage to restrain the impulse. I give him a semblance of his own lofty look and scoot the bakery box over toward the window so there’s a sliver of room for me to set my sketchbook on my lap. I open a clean page and start drawing.

I hear him chuckling softly, but I don’t turn to look.

***

IMAKE IT AN HOUR ANDa half without giving in to my desire to peer at Isaac. Talk to him.

He’s been working studiously until he gets a text message that pops up on his laptop screen with a little chirp.

I hear the alert and glance over. I’m not sure anyone could resist a quick look.

The message is from someone named Sophie.

Probably his girlfriend.

I try to keep drawing, but my eyes dart over as he replies and then has a texted conversation with her.

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