Page 81 of From Air

“And a yellow quilt. Nice.”

I grin. “Yes.” I show her my white desk and chair facing the windows.

“Get some floating shelves for over the kitchen counter, and you’ll be fine. Oh! And a shit ton of plants because you havesomuch light.”

“Plants are a good idea”—I laugh—“since there’s barely enough oxygen in the room for two people.” I sit on the bed.

“That’s because the air quality there is awful.”

“Then why do you want to visit?”

“Because I’m worried you left your heart in Missoula.”

I lean my phone against the desk lamp and continue unpacking. “Do you want to know what’s most heartbreaking about Fitz?” I arrange my shoes below the hanging rod. “I think he doesn’t feel capable of love because he refuses to say the words, but he shows love. He went aboveand beyond preparing my Jeep for the trip here. And I didn’t ask him to do it. I think he’s a true gentleman who tries to disguise his soft side with smart-ass remarks and a stiff upper lip.”

“That is heartbreaking. Are you going to call or text him? Or do you feel like it’s over, and there’s nothing you can do? Can you salvage the friendship?”

“I would love that. But he’s working all the time. And I’m not comfortable sending him messages. He likes not feeling accountable to anyone.”

“It’s a text, babe. That’s the best part of messages. They’re ready to be read whenever the recipient has the time to read them. Send. The. Damn. Message.”

I grin. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to thank him again for what he did with my Jeep and just let him know I’m here, and I hope he’s safe. I can tell him I don’t expect a reply.”

“Or you can leave that part out. You’re worthy of a reply.”

“I love you, Mel.” Eyeing my mom’s box on the floor, I try to nudge it under the bed with my foot, but it’s too tall, so I slide it into the corner by the stacked washer and dryer.

“Love you too, babe. I’ll give you a few weeks to settle into your place before I book anything. Let me know how your first day goes.”

“Perfect. Bye, Mel. Talk soon.”

“Later, babe.”

I gaze at my phone screen for over five minutes, composing the perfect message.

Me: I made it to San Bernardino. Thx for making sure my Jeep would get me here. I’m lucky to have u as my person. Hope ur kicking ass and staying safe.

I stare at the message for another few minutes. Then, I erase the “staying safe” part. It feels too motherly. It might put pressure on him to reply with the status of his safety.

Besides, Maren or Evette will let me know if anything happens to him.

After I unpack my suitcase and make a list of things I need to purchase, my phone chimes with a text from Fitz. My heart goes wild. It doesn’t think; it just reacts.

Fitz: That’s great. Ur welcome

I’m giddy that he replied so quickly. Hell, I’m delighted that he replied at all. Yet my greedy heart wants more.

I type numerous replies, trying to bait him into giving me more.

Tell Gary hi

If you’re ever in my area, call me

Maybe I’ll send a care package of cookies

I miss feeling you between my legs

Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.

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