Page 28 of In Flight

He’s so infuriating. If he has something to say, he should just say it instead of holding it all inside and pretending it isn’t there.

I’m so annoyed by him and by myself and by the whole situation that I unintentionally flop my arms. It sends the scarf I’m working on—almost finished now, so it’s long—falling onto Isaac’s arm and his keyboard.

As carefully and coolly as the very first flight we shared, he picks up the soft fabric and drops it over the armrest onto my side.

Just to annoy him as much as he’s annoying me, I flop it back over.

He gives a long-suffering sigh as he removes it again.

I shuffle, sending my yarn off my tray table and jostling his knee with mine.

“Ow,” he says expressionlessly.

“That didn’t hurt you.” I’m leaning over for my yarn, but it’s started to roll, unfortunately not merely onto Isaac’s side but into the aisle.

“It was the vibes I’m getting from your side more than the physical blow that hurt.”

“There was no physical blow! I accidentally bumped your knee.”

“Accidentally. Yes. That’s what it was.”

He leans over to snag my ball of yarn, but the plane shifts slightly and it starts rolling down the aisle.

I tug on my end of the yarn to stop the roll.

“That’s not going to help. Now it’s unwinding even more.”

I stretch over to try to see, leaning on top of him in the process. The fact that I really like the brush of his firm, warm body aggravates me even more.

He collects my loose hair into a handful to keep it from spreading all over him. “Straighten up. I’ll get it.”

I do as he says so he can get out of his seat. It’s a process because of his laptop and tray table. The yarn has stopped midway down the aisle. Most of the plane is watching its progress with interest.

Isaac walks toward it. He’s leaned over and almost snagged it when sudden turbulence rattles the plane. He stumbles, catching himself on someone’s seatback.

The yarn rolls the rest of the way down the aisle until it bumps into the service cart.

I’m shaking with amusement as I watch Isaac chase it down, pausing to steady himself every time the plane rocks and jerks.

He’s got narrowed eyes and tight lips as he finally gets his hand on it. His expression makes me giggle even more as he makes his way back to our seats, neatly rolling up the yarn as he goes.

I expect his mouth to be twitching beneath his stern look when he hands it to me and sits down, but it’s not.

“Are you really pissed?” I ask, genuinely concerned.

“No, I’m not pissed.” He clenches his armrest through a particularly bumpy span of turbulence. “I just prefer to be seated when it’s like this.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I feel terrible since he’s lost some color. “Do you get motion sickness?”

“No, I don’t,” he grits out.

Since the conversation seems to be bothering him, I stay silent until the air smooths out a few minutes later.

“I really am sorry,” I say when I feel him relax. “I was being petty on purpose, and I shouldn’t have done that.”

He searches my face like he’s checking to see if I’m serious. He must see that I am because his expression softens slightly. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t realize you had any problems with flying.”

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