Page 30 of The Best Wild Idea
Oh my God.It’s more than fine.
“My crew doesn’t drink while working.” Silas smiles like I should already know that.
“Right. However, I still don’t need two thousand dollars’ worth of Dom Pérignon on the flight,” I murmur toward the window. “Some of us don’t drinkexcessively.” I can feel Silas side-eyeing me after emphasizing the word. “And besides, I wouldn’t have had him break the seal on anything if I’d have known it was so expensive.”
Andy comes back a moment later with a second flute, which he places on my tray. This one doesn’t have any orange juice added. Silas thanks him before he disappears into the galley of the plane again.
I make sure Si isn’t watching before I sniff the straight champagne, then take a little sip.
“Oh wow, that’s delicious,” I admit quietly. “Tastes like a dry brut alright. Though I thought it might taste like twenty-four karat gold or a pile of money or something.”
“Nah, you’re thinking of the gold-infused champagne I have specially made back in Boston. That one tastes like gold-plated dollar bills.”
I immediately shoot him a look, half-wondering if he’s serious.
He remains deadpan until our eyes meet; then a hearty laugh bursts out of him. A sound, I admit, I’ve missed.
“Insufferable,” I mutter, turning away before stealing another small sip.
“I suppose you’ve crossed off your first bucket list item then,” he tells me. “Trying a champagne you’ve always wanted to try. Glad to see the trip is finally off to the right start.”
I return a stiff smile, instantly remembering the reason behind our adventure.
The pilot’s voice comes over the loudspeaker, commanding the crew to prepare for departure. Then the plane starts vibrating as the jet engines fire up and we ease toward the runway. My stomach begins hammering one warning shot after another. I don’t know if I’ve evernotfelt anxious during takeoff.
I feel Silas’ eyes on me. When I turn, he looks as cool and calm as ever, giving me a faint, familiar smile as the plane’s pace picks up speed. I soften, realizing for the first time that this trip we’re starting might mean something to him, too.
“To Grant,” I say, lifting my champagne up across the aisle between us.May he keep us safe somehow, I add silently.
Silas clinks his coffee mug against my champagne, and we both take a sip. I drain the rest of the glass before setting the empty flute back down on the tray, wiping my lips with the back of my hand. Then I close my eyes to lean my head against the headrest.
Silas starts laughing again and I squeeze one eye open to glare at him.
“What?”
“It’s nothing.”
“What?” I insist louder.
“Need another?” he asks, pointing at the empty flute. “Sometimes, at certain moments in life, this one possibly being one of those moments, it’s okay to drink a bitexcessively.” He emphasizes my own word back at me, not bothering to hide his amusement.
I fight back an eye roll.
“I already have my backup right here,” I say, smirking, tipping my second glass toward him. “I hate flying. You know that.” I close my eyes but go on. “I just want to shut my eyes and be there so I can get that next letter from Grant as soon as humanly possible. The more the merrier. Then head back home in one piece.”
“Makes sense. There’s a bed in the back of the plane you can go lie down on as soon as we’re high enough. Andy will let you know when we’re clear.”
I crack my eyes open to look at him straight on.
“That sounds fine,” I say, trying to soften my voice while failing miserably. I hope I fall asleep before the plane starts edging higher so I don’t have to speak to him again. At least until we land.
I’m pressed into my seat as the plane races toward liftoff, making the second full glass of champagne Andy left on my tray slowly slide across the surface toward my lap. Silas and I both lurch to grab it and our hands clasp onto the glass and onto each other momentarily, quick as a wink, before I can pull mine away again.
Silas keeps his hand stretched across the aisle, steadily holding the glass in front of me.
I take a deep breath and force myself to exhale slowly, steadying my nerves.
I should probably spend the remainder of the flight taking advantage of that bed in the back of the plane to put more distance between us. Sure, I could use a nap, but also because I’m not sure what I hate the most: the fact that I’m about to take off in a tiny airplane owned by Silas Davenport, or the way my stomach jumped when our hands touched just now.
