The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“You too.”

“I’m not going to call you this weekend.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Your words are playing on my mind.”

“What words?”

“You told me not to force this between us.”

I listen.

“I’m stepping back.”

My heart drops. “You’re giving up?”

“No. Just the opposite; I’m making plans for our future. But I understand that you need time. Me forcing you to forgive me before you’re ready may not be the smartest move.”

I smile softly as I listen, hope blooming in my chest.

“You just call me whenever you want to speak to me,” he says.

“Okay.”

“And that could be fifty times a day. I’ll be waiting for your call like a lovesick schoolboy.”

I smile as I hang on the line . . . I really do want to see him this weekend.

No.

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Emily.”

“Goodbye,” I whisper. I hang up, smell my rose, and smile sadly out the window as New York flies by. I feel like I’m in a subspace. Caught between two men, each with their own memory—one of Jameson Miles’s coldhearted dismissal and the other of playful Jim’s overwhelming love. Each time I feel myself leaning toward one, the other jumps in my way. I’m not sure how to turn this off, but I need to work it out . . . and sooner rather than later.

Half an hour later the limo pulls up at the airport, and Alan opens my door. I clutch my rose in my hand, knowing that I can’t take it in.

Alan retrieves my bag from the trunk. “Would you like me to carry this in for you?” he asks.

“No, thank you.” I look down at my rose. I feel strangely attached to it and can’t stand the thought of it dying. “Would you be able to put the rose in some water for me, please?” I ask him.

He smiles warmly. “Of course.” He takes it from me. “I’ll put it in water at Mr. Miles’s apartment for you.”

“Thank you.” I shrug, suddenly feeling stupid. “Goodbye, Alan.”

“I’ll see you on Sunday when we pick you up.”

“Okay.” With a meek wave, I make my way to the check-in desk, and surprisingly there’s no line today. “Hello. I have a booking for Emily Foster.” I slide my license across the desk to the check-in clerk.

“Hello.” She types my name into her computer. “Ah yes, Ms. Foster. I see you have amended your booking to first class.”

I frown. “No.”

She rechecks the details. “Yes, your two tickets were upgraded late last night.”

“Two tickets?”