Page 66 of For Fox Sake

Thinking about it isn’t a no. I’ll take what I can get. “I understand.”

I’ll wait. As long as it takes. I’ll grovel and apologize and crawl over broken glass, anything I can do to make it up to her. I’m not giving up.

Chapter Eighteen

Ryan

It takes five days, three dinners with Jake, endless begging from Ari, and two conversations with Bernie before I finally make a decision.

Since Jake’s rental agreement expired and we had another tenant moving in, he decamped to a motel in the center of town.

He wasn’t staying to pressure me, but because he was training his replacement at the hospital. He planned on heading back to Whitby by the weekend, whether I had made my decision or not.

“You can change your mind at any time,” he insisted. “A month from now, two months from now, or tomorrow.”

The three times he came over for dinner throughout the week, we didn’t talk about his Whitby offer at all. Instead, we finished watching The 10th Kingdom, then discussed our favorite fairy-tale stories, which segued into favorite superheroes and superhero powers and what powers were the best and why.

“I want to fly. Like Superman and Doctor Strange and Captain Marvel,” Ari told us, her tone very serious for a six-year-old who also had chocolate frosting smeared across her face, since Jake brought over cupcakes for dessert.

“I want to be able to control the elements like Storm and Magneto,” Jake said.

They both looked over at me. “I think teleportation. I could blink and be anywhere in the world.”

He left shortly after dinner each night, with a smile and a wave and no pressure.

I wanted him to pressure.

If we don’t go, I will regret it.

Which is why we’re now at the Portland International Airport, staring up at a private jet.

“I know you said Oliver was a billionaire and we would be going on his private jet, and I understood all that in theory, but I don’t think I truly grasped it until this moment.” Not to mention all the preceding moments. Like when we drove to a secluded area of the airport, parked in a side lot, and were escorted in a black sedan straight onto the tarmac.

Who needs to be felt up by TSA? Not us, apparently.

I glance down at Ari.

She gapes at the steps leading up to the sleek white plane. She hasn’t talked much this morning. Maybe she’s tired, since I woke her up at six to get here by nine, and we were up late last night packing because she wanted to bring her entire closet for a three-day trip and I had to convince her to narrow it down a bit.

Jake has been a lifesaver, distracting Ari during the drive when she was cranky, bringing extra snacks and drinks, factoring in time for bathroom breaks and buying more snacks along the way when Ari said she needed something sugary to help her wake up.

“You ready, superhero?”

“We’re going up there?” She points at the plane.

“Yep. Do you want to meet the pilot?”

She nods slowly.

“Most planes are bigger than this, but they also fly a lot more people,” Jake explains as we climb up the steps. “Like two hundred people. We get this whole plane to ourselves.”

Ari’s first flight and it’s a private jet. Who would have thought?

It will be a quick trip. We’re spending three nights and two days in New York, spending one day in Whitby and at least part of one in Ithaca, so Ari can see where both her moms lived for a time.

The pilot greets us at the door, standing near the open cockpit. She has sleek blond hair pulled back into a bob and she’s wearing a black suit. “Welcome aboard,” she says, shaking our hands as we enter the plane.

“Thank you,” Ari says politely, shaking her hand and then moving farther inside. She looks around, her eyes wide, and I’m sure I have an even more awestruck expression on my face.

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