Page 77 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
“Shouldn’t you be heading home?” I deflect. “Don’t you have an appointment with Dr. Whiskers or something?”
“Nice try. But I’m off the clock, so I’m free to call you on your bullshit.” Margo pats my shoulder sympathetically. “Not every gift has a price tag, boss.”
After my employees leave, and Alex retreats upstairs to my apartment with Salem—something he’s been doing lately, with my blessing—I find myself alone with Erik. I continue my closing routine, painfully aware of his presence as he stands at the counter, turning his empty mug between his hands.
“You’re still here,” I observe, not looking at him.
“I am.”
“The café is closed.”
“It is.”
Exasperated, I turn to face him. “What do you want, Erik?”
He studies me, his eyes both soft and dangerous. “I want you to stop denying yourself things you want just because they come from me.”
The accuracy of his assessment sparks my temper. “You don’t know what I want.”
“Flying lessons,” he replies immediately. “Freedom. Control. The rush of adrenaline that makes you feel alive.” His voice drops lower. “I’m beginning to understand, Fiona. What drives you. What you need.”
I force myself to meet his gaze. “And what is it that you think I need?”
“To know that you’re the one making the choice. That no one is forcing you into anything ever again.” He pushes the envelope across the counter. “This is a gift. Not a trap. Not a bribe. Just a door, opening to something you’ve been wanting. You can walk through it or not. Your choice.”
I stare at the envelope, my resolve weakening. Flying—being the one in control, navigating the open sky—has been a dream for so long. A dream that seemed out of reach.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, hating the vulnerability in my voice.
“Because I can,” he says simply. “Because it would make you happy. And because maybe, if you let me, I could be there to see it.”
“And if I take this but still want nothing to do with you?”
Pain flickers across his features but is quickly masked. “Then, I will have given you an experience you wanted. That’s enough.”
It’s not the answer I expected. There’s no manipulation there, no attempt to guilt me. Just a plain statement that my happiness matters, regardless of his own desires.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach for the envelope. “Fine. But this doesn’t change anything between us.”
His smile is too knowing. “Of course not.”
The flight school is small but professional, situated at a regional airport about an hour from town. I arrive early Saturday morning, my stomach a knot of anticipation and nerves. Part of me expected Erik to arrange something ostentatious, perhaps lessons in a luxury jet. Instead, I find myself walking into a modest facility with weathered planes lined up on the tarmac.
“Ms. Morgan?” A cheerful woman in her fifties approaches, hand outstretched. “I’m Carol, your instructor. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes. Nice to meet you,” I reply, shaking her hand. I glance around, surprised to find no sign of Erik. “I thought—”
“Your friend called. Said he might be running late but to start without him. Ready to go?”
I hesitate only briefly. “Absolutely.”
The next hour is a blur of preflight checks, technical explanations, and sitting in the cockpit of a small Cessna as Carol explains the bewildering array of instruments. Despite the complexity, I absorb it all with the perfect recall that once made me valuable to the Silver Ring.
“You’re a quick study,” Carol observes. “Most first-timers are still trying to figure out what an altimeter is by this point.”
I smile, my fingers hovering over the controls. “I’ve always been a fast learner.”
“Well, let’s see how you do in the air. We’re cleared for takeoff in fifteen minutes.”
