Page 4 of Truth, Lies, and Second Dates
And Dennis would be, too.
Also irrelevant. And speaking of irrelevancies, was that Dennis behind the doppelganger of his dead twin?
Why, yes. Yes it was.
“Excuse me,” she said, rising, and then stepped out of the cockpit. “Dennis?”
He turned at once and his eyes widened. “Ava! Wow! You—” He cut himself off and looked her up and down. “You look great! Captain. You look great, Captain… uh… Capp. Huh.”
“Believe me, colleagues have pointed out the alliteration,” she said dryly.Shake his hand? Hug? What’s the etiquette for running into your secret crush ten years after his sister’s murder?
Ah,she thought as he bent toward her.The A hug. Arms around shoulders, pelvises at least a foot apart, butts sticking out just a bit. Completely awkward and joyless. So, perfect.
“It’s great to see you,” she said, pulling back from their sterile hug. “But time’s not on your side, cutie.”
“Rude.” Oof, that grin. It made Tom Cruise’s look like Donald Trump’s. “Pretty sure it’s not on anyone’s side.”
“So follow your friend’s example”—she nodded at the woman who had preceded him on the plane—“and plant your butt in your seat.”
“That’s my cousin, Xenia. But aye-aye, Cap Capp. Consider my butt planted,” he replied, and then—
Oh, shit. Here it comes.
—let out his patented giggle. Which never failed to make her snicker. Dennis Monahan was as close to a clichéas a man could be and not work in movies or ads as central casting’s rugged-yet-sensitive guy: tall, with sleek runner’s muscles, thick dark tousled hair, just the right amount of stubble, bright blue eyes, light tan—Dennis Monahan was an absurdly good-looking man.
So the giggle, which sounded like a noise an effeminate cartoon character might make if someone poked them in thebelly, was always incongruous. And she had never been able to resist it.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered before she could stop herself, which made him giggle harder. And like that, it was ten years ago, her best friend was alive, and she had a crush on the cutest guy in town. “Go sit down already. I can’t be having that weird tittering in my head for the next three hours. My God. The idea.”
With a smile and a wave, he obeyed.
“Weird tittering?” India commented, staring straight ahead as Ava took her seat. “Good call. He sounds like a cartoon villain on helium.”
“Yep.” Fortunately, there was no need for further small talk, because she got the high sign from G.B. just as they got their authorization and picked up the mic.
“Northeastern Southwest 402, cleared for takeoff. Contact Departure on frequency.”
She clicked in. “Roger, Tower, Northeastern Southwest 402 switching to Departure.”
So began another day in the sky, and she wasn’t hiding.
She wasn’t. She didn’t love flying out of some silly half-formed notion that no one could corner and kill her in the air. She loved it for other reasons.Lotsof other reasons. The, um, uniforms, for one. And the food. And the long hours. And the drunken unruly passengers who thought she was an overpaid cab driver.
No question.
At all.
Two
Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport Terminal 1, Lindbergh
“… and we’ve just landed in the Twin Cities, where the temperature is sixty-four degrees despite being high summer because Minnesota. Which is just… bleah. Anyway, we at Northeastern Southwest—we fly everywhere!—appreciate your business and wish you a pleasantly frigid day.”
Ava could hear G.B. bitching from the jump seat (“Oh my God with the weather again. She willnotlet it go.”) and the new crew member laughing softly.
“No comment from the copilot?” Ava asked sweetly.
India shook his head and quirked a smile at her.
