Page 37 of Tinder Embrace
Tom raised bushy dark brows. "You say potato, I say potahto."
Sahar said, "I'd be sayingnever again."
I swiped my finger through the condensation on my glass, pretending fascination with the pattern I’d drawn. "I don't have that option. I've got lease payments to make and a balloon festival to host."
"I'm sure the Campfire Council would understand," Juanita admonished. "They're your friends."
"True. I could probably get out of my lease without too much of a penalty." I straightened my shoulders. "But I'm not a quitter. I love flying. Most of the time."
Just the thought of getting into the basket again, trusting in the burners to keep me aloft, had me breaking out in a cold sweat. But I'd meant what I said. Dunhams didn't quit. The same stubbornness that helped me get behind the wheel again after my accident would help me now. I'd find my way back to flying.
The first step was to get the burner fixed. Then I could do another test, though maybe this time I'd try a tethered flight. If I hooked into my rig, I'd only go so high. A baby flight seemed like a good way to get over my fears.
Tom shook his head. "I guess good for you, but you wouldn't catch me dead in a balloon again after crashing."
Juanita shook her head. "Tom, this is why you're not allowed to cover for me with the kindergartners anymore."
"What? Why?"
"Too sour."
He scrunched his nose. "I disagree, but if it gets me out of covering for you, I'll take it."
"See? Sour."
After another hour sipping our drinks and consuming orders of both nachos and Cajun tots, we walked back to the Bluff Elementary parking lot. March in Campfire could be hit or miss on the weather front, but we'd lucked into an unseasonably warm day, sunny and in the fifties. The afternoon with my colleagues had left me feeling relaxed, but I still dreaded going home alone.
I pulled up in front of my small apartment complex and climbed the stairs to the third floor. My dad and brother had moaned about cartingmy stuff up the stairs when they helped me move into a place of my own, but in the next breath, my dad had expressed gratitude that at least I wasn't on a murder floor.
Not that Campfire had much in the way of crime. The worst we'd had was the rash of pranks at our quarterly community events. We'd been hit at every one with at least one mishap. At a certain point, we could no longer chalk them up to bad luck. We had a bad actor in play. One who'd been surprisingly sneaky, using teenagers to do their dirty work. There was a special place in hell for someone who took advantage of the young and gullible.
I coached my students to solve their problems with logic and words, but even I wanted to smack whoever was behind the troubles we'd been having. It was one thing to disagree with the direction we wanted to take Campfire. It was another thing entirely to undermine your friends and neighbors.
Thinking about the trouble we'd been having inevitably led me to the upcoming balloon festival. I needed to be ready to fly. We were playing a version of Hound and Hare, where I'd lift off in advance of the rest of the balloonists, find a spot to land, and set up a target. Each pilot would try to follow me and drop a bean bag on my target. The winner would get a gift card for $500 in free propane.
It was all in good fun, something to spice up the flights with sponsors. I was proud of all of the businesses I’d been able to get sponsor agreements from. It helped that, in return, their sponsored balloon would not only fly their business banner but offer two mornings of flights to the riders of their choice.
My apartment seemed stale after sitting empty while I recuperated at Davis's. One sad pothos plant clung to life on my windowsill. The rest of the apartment was decorated in prints of balloon rallies. The photos—some of me flying, others of pilots I admired—always made me smile. Hot air balloons were so bright and cheerful, it was impossible not to feel somehow lighter in the presence of their majesty. My favorite was a photo of my first flight in Bee-gonia. I'd been lit from within, taking up my baby for the first time. Now I shuddered, dreading the idea of flying again.
Getting myself airborne soon needed to take priority. I'd procrastinated taking my burner in, apprehensive about the drive to Spokane after my run of bad luck. I hated driving the freeways, which meant the drive took longer than it should. It didn't help that my desire to fly again was sitting near zero. But I'd made a commitment to my friends and the town, which meant stepping up and serving as the Hare in a matter of weeks.
I flopped on my couch and grabbed my phone, grinning when I saw I had a text from Davis.
Davis: Can I take you to dinner this weekend?
My squee slipped out before I could fully process his words. He must have spoken with Jo. I hugged myself, grinning. Davis following throughon a commitment wasn’t a shocker, but after months spent trying to pry him out of his shell, having him turn the tables and take the lead sent happiness singing through me.
There was only one minor hitch. I bit my lip. Davis wouldn't mind helping me out. Maybe it was cowardly to hold back, but if I told him the reason why I wanted to go, he'd volunteer for sure. He was solid like that.
Sophie: Sounds lovely. Could we go to Spokane? Business and pleasure? Then I can drop my burner off for repair.
Davis: Yes.
I wiggled in my seat, glad no one could see my happy dance.
Sophie: I take it Jo gave us the green light?
Davis: Appropriate for the holiday, right?
