And one, two, three seconds passed before he said, “It might be a bit early for that.”
I laughed, partly because I was letting him in on a little secret and partly because I wanted to see if it would lighten things. “I live by the motto that it’s five o’clock somewhere. If you want a drink, have one. Don’t waste time debating it. Life’s too short for that.”
He wasn’t smiling, but his lips weren’t hard like when he’d just sat down. “You’re going to join me then?”
When a client was paying for my travel, I had rules. Not getting drunk was one. But there was no reason I couldn’t have a mimosa, considering I wasn’t going to the restaurant for another twelve hours. Besides, tonight, I was just taking pictures and shooting videos. Tomorrow was when I was eating.
“I’ll have one.”
His eyes narrowed. “What would happen if you had two?”
“I’d be fine. Three on an empty stomach is questionable. Four would be ugly and probably get me fired.”
“Strict boss.”
As I repositioned myself again, my body now facing him even more, I noticed his paper had flattened in his lap, and he was no longer holding it upright. I grinned at the sight, placing my coffee on my thigh as I said, “You’re looking at her.” I felt us make a turn and head for the runway. Keeping his mind occupied would help his nerves, and the only way to do that was to bury him in conversation. “Let me clarify … my job is centered around food and eating. That doesn’t mix well with a hangover.”
He nodded toward my tablet, which showed Basil’s website and pictures of a few of their dishes. “You made those?”
“Oh no.” I shut off the screen. “I’m a food vlogger, not a chef.”
Even though he showed no emotion, it seemed as though he was warming a little. I especially believed that when he said, “Tell me more about this job.”
“Well … where do I start—”
“We’ve been informed we’re second for takeoff,” the pilot said over the intercom, cutting me off. “Flight attendants, please prepare for departure.”
Out of habit, I glanced at the window. With the interior lights still on, I had the perfect shot of what was in front of me and the view directly behind me.
We were sitting on the runway, ready.
But then my eyes shifted, taking in the reflection, and the intensity returned to my body. It was the same feeling he had caused earlier and had broken when he went to the restroom.
That was because, in the Plexiglas, I saw his eyes.
And they were locked with mine.
SEVEN
HONEY
SPRING 1984
“YOU’VE GOT A NICE, big corner room all to yourself,” the nurse said to Honey while she stood next to her bed.
She had been placed on the post-surgical floor where she’d be staying until tomorrow, assuming she was well enough to be discharged.
“Will the doctor be checking on me?” Honey asked.
She was still so groggy from surgery, her mouth dry, lips cracked. But she remembered the man who had been so kind when she came into the hospital, who had stayed with her until she was prepped for surgery, and she wanted to thank him.
“You’ve already seen him,” the nurse said, checking the connection on the IV. “He spoke to you when you were in recovery.”
Honey tried to recall their conversation, but not a single word came to mind. Not even his face, which she would have seen for the first time.
“What did he say to me?”
The nurse propped Honey’s pillow a little higher. “He told you how well everything went.”
“I want him to”—she couldn’t believe how heavy her eyes were getting, how her limbs felt like lead—“come back.” A tingling was spreading, like little flecks of sun bursting inside her blood. “I’m … so tired.”
The nurse pulled the blanket up to Honey’s chin, and then she fell asleep.
“Hello?” Honey whispered into the receiver of the phone, her throat so scratchy that it was burning.
The ringing had woken her out of a dead sleep.
“What in God’s name happened to you?” Valentine screeched.