Page 175 of Mountain Grump
But instead of gripping Ethan’s thigh, I hold his hand. In both of mine.
The flight was smoother than I expected. And the views were obviously beautiful. But I’m glad to have my feet on the ground.
I exhale and open my eyes.
I know I’ll have to fly again at some point in my life, but I really don’t want to.
Like, Ireallydon’t want to.
Ethan shifts beside me, then he reaches over and unbuckles my seat belt.
I watch his capable hands and accept that whenever I do have to fly again, I want it to be with him.
My husband.
The noise lessens, and the vibrations around us come to a stop.
Ethan points to his headset, then he takes it off.
I do the same and hand mine to Vulture. Then I follow Ethan out of the helicopter.
After a quick thank-you and goodbye to the pilot, Ethan and I walk to the little restroom building together. And when I’mdone, I wash my hands three times in a row, more grateful than I’ve ever been for running water.
When I step outside, I find Ethan talking to the guy who had been with him Friday morning, when I first got to the airport.
He grins at me. “Welcome back.”
My answering smile feels tired. “Thanks. Glad to be home.”
His attention moves back to Ethan, and he asks about the damage to the wing. So either Ethan or Vulture told him about thelanding.
Ethan’s fingers grip mine, and the three of us start walking toward hangar five, where our trucks are parked.
It’s not late in the day, still early afternoon. But I’m ready to go to bed. And I bet I’ll sleep for twelve hours straight.
I lift my arm and yawn into my flannel sleeve.
Ethan squeezes my other hand.
I look up at him, our matching sunglasses reflecting each other’s distorted image.
“If you feel okay to drive, you should head home. Before you get too tired.”
I nod, knowing he’s right.
Honestly, I felt fine—scared but fine—all day. But as soon as I got my feet on the ground, exhaustion took hold.
And if these two are going to stick around, talking plane terms, I will definitely fall asleep on the pavement.
Ethan lets go of my hand and hooks a finger in one of my backpack straps. “Get your keys out, Tilda.”
Right.
I pull one arm free from the shoulder strap and hold my backpack against my front as I dig around for my truck keys.
Warm fingers grip my chin and tip my head up.
“Yes, Ethan?”
