Page 45 of In Flight

We’ve been having such a good time, and this is going to ruin it.

Isaac doesn’t say anything. He holds both his armrests and looks at the back of the seat in front of him.

“At least we finished the meal,” I murmur, reaching over to rub his forearm.

“Yeah. That’s something, I guess.” He’s trying to sound natural and relaxed, but a big jolt of the plane turns the final word into a stifled mumble.

“Shit,” I breathe out as the shaking gets even worse. It’s such a strange feeling. Such intense fear and helplessness that’s not my own. That’s entirely empathy with him.

After a minute I can’t stand it any longer, and I reach over to take one of his hands in mine, squeezing it.

He’s not going to want me to fuss, but I have to do something.

To my surprise, he doesn’t immediately pull his hand away from mine. He lets me hold it until eventually he shifts its position so that he’s holding my hand instead. Holding it tightly. Not painfully but definitely tight.

We hold hands as the plane jerks and rattles for several more minutes. Then there’s a sudden shift, and the direction of the momentum changes. We’re descending.

It’s certainly because we’re getting close to Boston, but after all the turbulence, going down with so much speed is unnerving.

Isaac adjusts in his seat. His expression is characteristically stoic, but there’s a white line around his lips and his hand is still gripping mine tightly.

“We’ll land soon,” I murmur.

He nods and breathes through his nose.

My heart races, and I’m chilled to my bones—as if the fear and tension are my own—when the wheels finally connect to the landing strip with a bump.

There’s a mutual exhale through the plane. No one much enjoyed that final leg of the flight.

Isaac drops his head back and releases a long breath, only now loosening his grip on my hand.

He still doesn’t pull his away.

We sit holding hands during taxiing and connecting to the gate ramp and while everyone else gets off the plane.

Then he finally turns his head to look at me. “Well, that was an embarrassing end to an otherwise very good date.”

“It was still a good date,” I tell him, double-checking my bag to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.

My phone isn’t there. Isaac retrieves it from the crack between the seats.

“Sure it was,” he says dryly.

“It was.” I stand up in the aisle beside him, gazing up at him. “I loved it.”

His expression softens. “Did you?”

“I did. I wish you hadn’t had to go through that last part, but it didn’t change my feelings about anything. In fact...”

He waits, but when I don’t conclude the sentence, he says, “In fact...?”

I let out a pent breath. Smile up at him. “Do you have any plans this evening?”

He blinks. “No.”

“Me either.”

He swallows visibly. “Did you want to do something?”

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