Page 68 of From Air

Melissa walks on her knees and lifts the back of my hair. “Oh. My. God.”

“I know,” I squeak. “It’s a long story. Can we not talk about it? Like ... ever?”

“No. That’s not an option. However, we need to get you two to the airport soon, so I’ll give you a few days to get your story straight, and then we’ll have a come-to-Jesus moment about this. Understood?”

“Understood.” I drop the shirt from my face and add it to my bag.

By the time we exit the bedroom, Fitz is waiting at the door with his bag packed. He takes my suitcase, and with nothing more than a brief smile and a murmured “thanks,” we follow Melissa to her car.

It’s a bearable trip to the airport. Kudos to Melissa for yammering on about the party as if she knows Fitz and I need an out to not talk. Atthe terminal drop-off, Melissa and I share an emotional goodbye, then I navigate security—this time without any hiccups.

Fitz and I return to Missoula without exchanging more than a few words.

Without touching.

Without an ounce of recognition that something happened.

He breaks the silence when we pull into the driveway beside Will’s Bronco. “Are we good?”

Good. What does that mean? All of a sudden, I’m pondering the meaning ofgood. I’m comparing it tookayandgreat.

We shared a great weekend.

I was good with the arrangement.

Now . . .

“Yep. I’m okay,” I reply.

Goodis a solid goal. Maybe I’ll be there in a few weeks when Fitz jumps out of planes, I’m back in my work routine, and Will and Maren constantly remind me that Fitz has a challenging personality.

For now, I still feel him inside me like a deep breath I’m holding in my lungs for as long as I can. When it starts to burn, when I begin to feel like holding on to him is suffocating me, then I’ll let him go.

“That’s good,” he murmurs as we climb out of his truck.

I didn’t say “good,” but he’s into illusions, so I let him think what he wants.

“Hey, beach dwellers,” Will greets us. He turns down the volume of the basketball game.

“I jogged along the beach. That was the extent of beach time,” Fitz says.

“That sucks. You packed your tiny little Speedo for nothing.” Will snags a beer from the fridge.

“Yeah.” Fitz grabs a beer too. “But thanks for letting me borrow it.” He smirks and taps his bottle to Will’s.

“Have you seen Maren?” I wheel my bag to the back door.

“Not yet,” Will says, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa from Fitz.

“When she gets home, tell her to grab a bottle of wine and come see me.”

Will chuckles. “Jesus, Fitz. Sounds like you were an awesome travel companion.”

I don’t look at Fitz. I don’t wait for his response. I can’t.

A little before ten, there are three knocks on my door. “Come in.” I set my book aside and sit up, leaning against the headboard.

Fitz opens the door, holding a coffee mug. He’s freshly showered, in sweats and a T-shirt. And, of course, he brought his clean, masculine scent with him. “Maren’s not coming home tonight. There was a weather delay. I thought it was too late for wine, so I made chamomile tea.” He shuts the door behind him.

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