Page 26 of Shared By the Pilots

Me: You left at midnight and wouldn’t tell me why. That’s not even a red flag. That’s like a red flag taped to another, BIGGER red flag!

Luke: I promise it’s nothing like that.

Me: I’ll believe you if you just tell me why!

Luke: I can’t put it in a text message. I need to tell you in person.

Me: YET ANOTHER RED FLAG ON THE PILE OF RED FLAGS

Luke: I know it sounds shady, but it will make sense when I explain it. Can you meet me tomorrow morning for coffee? Will you do that, or is that another red flag?

Me: That depends on what kind of coffee you order.

Luke: I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll send you a link to the coffee shop. See you there at 8?

Me: Maybe I’ll be there. Maybe I won’t. I can’t explain why, though! It’s a big mystery!

Luke: I deserve that. I hope to see you there.

I didn’t feel like cooking anything when I got home, so I ate a sleeve of Chips Ahoy cookies and a few slices of cheddar cheese. I sang a little song to myself in the kitchen while eating.

“Girl dinner, girl dinner. This is a healthy meal because it’s a girl diiiiiiinner!”

I barely remember passing out in bed, but I did remember my vivid dreams that night. Luke was dancing with me, and then I blinked and it was Adam instead. In between songs I went to the bar, and that’s when I saw the random pilot from the Miami airport. The one who looked like Matthew McConaughey in a bomber jacket. His name totally escaped me in the dream, but that didn’t stop me from taking his hand and leading him out to the dance floor.

I wasn’t as hungover the next morning as I expected, but I was still in no mood to meet Luke for coffee. Despite that, curiosity got the better of me: I wanted to hear what his excuse was.It better be a good one.

He was already waiting at the coffee shop when I arrived, sitting at an outdoor table with two coffees in front of him. But what surprised me the most was that he was wearing his pilot’s uniform, except for the Gulf Airlines pin that usually accompanied it.

“We have the day off,” I said, frowning. “Our next flight isn’t until Wednesday.”

“That is correct.” He raised a cup to me. “I got you this.”

I eyed it suspiciously, then took a sip. My eyes widened. “This is exactly how I take my coffee.”

“Two sugars, two vanilla creams.” Luke smiled in satisfaction. “I was behind you at the Starbucks in DFW a few weeks back.”

“Kind of stalkerish memorizing my order.”

“I only remembered because they got your order wrong. You went back up to the counter and, as the kids these days call it, you were amassive Karen.”

“It’s not Karen behavior to want your drink made properly.” I sat down. “Okay, spill the beans. Why are you dressed up on our off day, and why did you ditch me at midnight in Miami?”

“The answer to both questions is the same.” He stood up. “Can we take a drive somewhere?”

“Why did you have me meet you here if we were going to drive somewhere else?”

“It will make sense when we get there. Humor me.”

I wanted to laugh in his face and go home… but I didn’t have anything else to do on my day off. And my curiosity wouldn’t be sated until I knew the answer to this riddle. “Fine.”

We got in his car—a black BMW 7 Series—and drove north a few miles. I quickly realized where we were headed: George Bush Intercontinental Airport. But after scanning his pass at the employee entrance, he turned right instead of left. Toward the private terminal.

As he parked, I suddenly understood. “You’ve been doing private flights on the side?”

He nodded and turned off the car. “My co-pilot buddy got me into it. We only do one or two extra flights a week, but it adds up to a lot of extra cash.”

I got out of the car with him. “And you can’t let Gulf Airlines know because they have restrictions on how many hours pilots are allowed to fly per week.”

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