Page 77 of From Air

“Carrot?”

Slipping the card into his back pocket, he glances around at nothing in particular. “Maren’s favorite cake is carrot.”

“I thought it was—”

He turns and saunters back toward the field. “German chocolate is my favorite cake. And I love that you want to please me on a subconscious level. Maybe you should talk to Dr. Reichart aboutthat.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

CALVIN

Chin and knee pads.

Kevlar jump jacket.

Jump pants.

Harness and parachute.

Reserve parachute.

Helmet, gloves, personal gear bag.

All this happens in two minutes, including a buddy jumper checking my gear.

“How much longer do you think you’ll jump?” Gib, one of the rookies, asks when we’re on the plane.

I squint out the window, holding my helmet in my lap. “Roughly until I die, give or take a few days.”

Or lose my mind over some girl.

I shake my head at the thought.

I get intel on the fire. It’s me and the rookie. As I survey the three thousand feet between me and the earth, I’m reminded that there’s no better view.

Jump—thousand.

Look—thousand.

Reach—thousand.

Wait—thousand.

Pull—thousand.

The green handle releases the drag canopy, and the weight frees the rest of the main canopy.

And again ... I think of Jamie baking in the kitchen with flour on her face, folding laundry while humming, skateboarding like a child with the wind tangled in her hair.

First fire of the season. It’s going to be a long summer.

Over the next six weeks, I manage to stay alive, clock a shit ton of overtime, and avoid being alone with Jamie.

Tonight, however, my luck runs out. Will’s on shift. Maren’s in Arizona. And Jamie’s done with her job in Missoula with a week left before she moves to California.

“You feeling good, Fitz?” she asks after I give her a quick “hey” and head up the stairs.

Stopping in my tracks, I press my lips together and exhale through my nose. “Feeling fine.”

---