A familiar grin kicked up the corner of his mouth. "It sure is."
He had such a great smile and a real talent for making her smile as well—even when she wanted to club his thick, gorgeous head.
Memories crackled along the air like popcorn in oil, heating to life. Dancing at the Officer's Club. Beach picnics with the crew members. Stretching out together under a blanket of stars.
"And that sky." She gazed through the windshield. Regular stars she viewed every night glowed vibrant shades of orange, red, green, even an arctic blue. "Is it always this incredible?"
"Oh, yeah." He pointed right. "See how much larger the planets are? The red one there is Mars, and the green one over there, that's Jupiter."
Lori slumped in the seat and savored the beauty. She'd seen some of the world's greatest works of art growing up, had met the artists firsthand and watched them create, watched her own artist parents pour their souls onto canvas.
This beat it all, hands down. "Thank you for dragging me out of there today so I could see this."
"You're welcome."
Silence returned, heavy and full, pulsing syrupy need through her veins. The tiny quarters, dim lighting, scenic night sky, and her weary defenses didn't help one bit.
Gray flipped a switch before easing his hand from the stick. The plane glided on smoothly. "Why did you really come up here, Lori?"
He knew her too well, and that swirled a mix of alarm and excitement within her. "To thank you. To say goodbye without a big audience."
Gray looked away and tapped the CD resting beside him. "And now that you have?"
He slipped the disk on his finger and spun it with an almost exaggerated focus. As if he couldn't face her. She understood that well enough. Seeing him made reasonable thought tough enough.
Instead she watched a streak of light across the sky. Northern lights, perhaps? She stared and whispered, "How do I wake up in the morning and forget we spent the day together?"
Her words hung between them like the stars, vibrant, alive, hot.
"The same way we've gone through every day this year." He stopped the disk, set it aside, and flipped two switches on the instrument panel. "Except I'll be sitting on Bronco this go-round."
Confusion pushed through her exhaustion. "Bronco?"
"So he and the rest of the crew won't pull another stunt like this one."
"Stunt? Help me out here. Sleep deprivation must be making me slow. I'm not understanding what you're saying."
"The whole scheduling change." His jaw flexed. "They set us up."
Her body tingled, her ears echoing with the first thrummings of realization. "Set us up."
"Oh, yeah. They're probably laughing their a—" he glanced at her "—laughing their butts off over this one."
Hurt, anger and too many emotions she didn't dare explore churned overtime. She straightened in her seat. "This whole day has been a big joke."
He whipped the CD off the console and slapped it into a case. "Crew dogs never miss a chance to pull one over."
"And of course you think this is funny." Her voice tightened. Her eyes stung.
"Hell, no."
She continued as if he hadn't spoken, "Of all the immature BS I've ever heard."
"Hey, simmer down." His mouth kicked up with a pacifying smile.
Major Smiles-and-No-Confrontation-Please would just have to suck this one up. "Don't defend their sixth-grade prank." She blinked back the weak tears. "All good intentions aside, they meddled in my life, and I don't appreciate it. And neither should you."
"I don't. But it's over and done with. Working yourself into a frenzy doesn't change a thing. Lighten up, Lori."