Page 72 of At First Flight
Dean:
Let me know if you need an extraction. I can come up with something.
Lila:
I appreciate that. I’m sure I’ll make it through the night. Who knows, maybe he’ll sweep me off my feet while we’re dancing.
Dean:
If your goal is to make me jealous, it won’t work.
Lila:
? Really? You sure about that?
Dean:
Of course, I am.
I know he’s right. Deep down, I can feel it—there’s no competition. It’s not just the way he looks at me, it’s how he sees through me, how confident he is in himself, in us. It’s that unwavering certainty that he knows exactly what he wants, and it just so happens to be me. I’ve never been one to fall easily for someone, but something about him, his quiet assurance, the way he makes me feel seen and valued makes it impossible not to like him even more. He doesn’t hesitate, and his confidence makes me feel secure, even when I’m questioning everything else. He doesn’t just make me feel safe. He makes me feel like I’m worth it. Worth all of him.
The night feels like it’s floating by in a haze. The music, the laughter, and the constant buzzing of conversation all blend in a way that makes everything feel distant, almost surreal. By the time Matthew and I dance, I step on his toes far more times than I care to admit. Laughing each time as he gently corrects me, I manage to forget, just for a few minutes, why I didn’t want to be here.
Matthew asks me if I’m enjoying myself, and I answer politely, not knowing how to express what I’m feeling. But I know it isn’t anything more than a casual night out.
When the dance ends, Matthew gives me that polite, friendly smile, and I let him continue with his conversations. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel at this moment, with the weight of the past and the present swirling around me like an ominous storm. Ashvi, on the other hand, is glowing. I catch a glimpse of her smiling and dancing with someone new, and I know she’s doing just fine. She’s here to have fun, and I won’t get in the way of that.
When the night winds down, I say my polite goodbyes. I don’t linger long. I just give Ashvi a soft assurance that I’ll be fine on my own before I slip into my car. As I drive away, the glow of the downtown grows distant in my rearview mirror. The lamplights linger until they’re just a fleck in the sky.
The car's headlights cut through the night air, a sharp contrast to the calm stillness of the world around me. But tonight has been a moment of self-discovery. I’m not running anymore. I’m facing something, and though I’m not sure what it is yet, it feels like something is shifting inside me. And for once, it feels like the right kind of change.
I sit in my car with the headlights off for too long, just outside the garage bay. The house is dim, like it’s readying itself for sleep, but the porch lights remain on. The upstairs window glows from the lamp I’d installed on a shelf in the hallway. I picture the kids asleep in their rooms. Safe from the world.
It’s late. The sun having long since bid us farewell.
Ashvi messages me, apologizing profusely for blindsiding me with the date. And while Matthew turned out fine, I needed air. I needed to think. I needed time.
I needed Dean.
Somehow, my pull to him is stronger than the voice in my head telling me to keep my distance. Since we met on theplane all those weeks ago, the voice seems to have always been there, quiet but insistent. Don’t make the same mistake. Don’t lose yourself in a relationship again. Don’t believe that he can’t hurt you.
Dean makes it hard to listen. With each passing day, the voice grows fainter until it becomes barely a whisper.
I park my car in the garage and make my way into the house, hoping to find Dean in his usual spot on the couch in the sunroom, enjoying the cool night. When I don’t see him there, I scurry up to the second floor to check on the kids.
Shucking off my sweat-covered clothes in my own room, I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt. I glance out the window while tossing my hair back into a ponytail and notice a dim light flickering off in the distance, right at the edge of the dock.
With a racing heart, I make my way down the stairs, slipping on a pair of sandals I left by the mudroom door before I go outside. By the time I creep through the fence and reach the dock, I’m not sure if it’s my hurry to see him or the speed at which I nearly jumped down the flight of stairs that causes my breath to come out in quick puffs of air.
But Dean remains unmoving until the wood creaks underneath my feet.
“You came,” he says quietly as he turns to look over his shoulder.
I nod. “I wanted to come home.”
“Did your night of dancing and blind dates not lead up to the hype?” he asks as I sit on the edge of the wood beside him.
“No. It was fine. Just not the night I wanted.”
