Trust (Wrong 3)

“Your candy plane dance?”

“Yup.” I’m holding firm on this. “I really, really love the candy plane,” I say, dropping into his lap. We’re currently on the plane somewhere over Nebraska. We should be in Vail within a couple of hours.

“Do you?”

“I do. It’s so sexy and well equipped,” I purr into his ear. “And big. Much bigger than I expected.” I slide my hand behind his neck and rub the skin there. I love touching him. “And let’s face it. No one wants to be stuck flying in the middle seat on Southwest,” I finish with a giggle.

“I knew exactly where that was going,” he says, slipping his fingers under the back of my shirt and trailing them lightly along my spine.

“You always do,” I agree, touching my forehead to his. He’s always touching me too and I love it. I’m officially team touchy-feely. Team public displays of affection. Team mile-high club. Team Boyd. I’m not team winter sports though, which reminds me… “You know I don’t know how to ski, right?”

“I’ll teach you.” His eyes light up when he smiles like this, shining with unspoken promises.

“You do have a bit of a teacher fetish, don’t you?” I smile back, pressing myself into his chest. “You love teaching me new things. Naughty things.” I rub myself against him and wonder exactly how far over Nebraska we are. I’m not sure I can wait.

“Only with you.” He nips my earlobe between his teeth, which is always a straight shot to my clit.

“Do you think the pilots need to use the restroom or get a snack or something?”

“Who knows,” he replies, apparently unconcerned. Is he really not getting this?

“Boyd,” I sigh and, placing a hand on his chest, push myself back a few inches and widen my eyes suggestively.

“Safety girl, are you suggesting we have sex on the candy plane? Do you really think it’s safe to unbuckle our seat belts while in flight?”

“Um…” Oh. Boyd’s relaxed in his seat as if he has no intention of taking me up on my illicit in-flight offer, his legs sprawled beneath me, his neck resting against the headrest behind him. “Well, I’m willing to risk it.” I shrug. “Take off your pants.”

A couple of hours later we land at the regional airport. We stop again at the Red Canyon Cafe for breakfast on our way to Vail. Snow is falling this time, making the trip slower, but we’re not in any hurry. We get a window table at the cafe and after ordering sit back to watch the snowfall. It’s magical. All of it—the snow, the location, being in love, life.

I found a great therapist and I’m learning how to better manage my anxiety before it gets the best of me. Because life is full of stress, even good stress. Engagements, weddings, babies, new homes. All of those events are thrilling, yet not stress-free. And I know they’re all in my future with Boyd. And I know I’m never going to adapt to change the way some people do, and that’s okay, because Boyd gets me and he knows I need a minute (or an hour) to adjust. And he loves me enough to give that to me without judgement.

I’ve had to work through feeling guilty over my anxiety, feeling guilty for being anxious about things I’m excited about. Some of the best things in life are stressful. Being anxious about them doesn’t mean I’m not grateful to be experiencing them—it’s just part of who I am and how I process. Knowing that Boyd isn’t judging me helps with the anxiety. A lot. Knowing unequivocally that he’s on my side is everything.

“What do snowmen have for breakfast?” I hide my smile behind the rim of my coffee mug.

“Wait, are you nervous about something or are we doing a re-enactment of our first trip here?”

I lower my mug and laugh. “Re-enactment.”

“Okay, what do snowmen have for breakfast?”

“Frosted flakes!” I laugh. “I just learned that one yesterday from my class.”

“Nice,” he agrees. “What falls in the winter but never gets hurt?”

“Boyd Gallagher, are you telling me a joke?”

“Yup.” He grins.

He really loves me.

“A penguin?”

He shakes his head.

“A polar bear?”

“Snow. Snow falls in the winter and never gets hurt.”

“Good one.”

“Thanks.” He gives me the lazy grin that does all the things to me and I can’t wait to get him back to the hotel. And when I eat breakfast a little faster than usual he just tilts his head and looks on in amusement.

We pull up to the valet at the Arrabelle a short time later and I’m excited to see that we’re staying at the same hotel as last time. Another fun memory to repeat.

Only this time we bypass check-in and head straight for the elevators. Weird. But I didn’t see him check in last time either. He dropped me at the spa and checked us in after. I think.

“Do they have advance check-in here?” I ask as the elevator rises. “How did you get the key?” The elevator stops and Boyd holds the door while I exit and then leads us to the left.

“I actually own a unit here,” he says casually as he inserts a key into a lock and turns it.

Wait.

“What do you mean you own a unit?”

“The Arrabelle is half condo, half hotel,” he says as if this might keep me from asking more questions. It won’t. The door swings open and my suspicions are confirmed. The condo is huge. The view stunning, blah blah. What I’m really interested in right now are the bedrooms. As in plural.

“If you own this, why didn’t we stay here last time? Why did you pay for a hotel room in the same building you own a condo in?”

“Chloe,” he says, shutting the door behind us. “I think that’s obvious.”

“Say it.”

“This place has too many bedrooms.” He can’t even pretend not to smile.

“You lying liar who lies!” I point my finger at him. “You said that room we stayed in was all they had left!”

“Did I?”

“The room with the one bed!”