Page 132 of Resurrection
I reach over and give her hand a squeeze. She squeezes back, and that’s all the assurance I need.
We settle in, and the limo starts moving, the sound of the engine purring like a happy cat over our small talk.
"Admit it," I say. "You love it."
"It’s…nice," she allows.
I catch her looking at me, that sideways glance she’s had since we were teens, the one that says she’s not quite convinced but wants to be.
"You’re not even a little impressed?"
"Okay," she admits, pretending to be exasperated. "I’m a little impressed."
"A little?" I nudge her. "Just wait."
"You know I’ve been in a limo before."
"I’m sure you’ve seen lots of cool stuff," I agree. I know what it’s like to be surrounded by all that wealth and all those celebs. I know what it’s like to have pockets full of money. She’s not a naive girl from the desert anymore. She’s lived an interesting life. She's seen the same things I've seen.
"I’m going to give you my verdict after the date," she murmurs playfully.
We ride in a cocoon of words and teenage fantasies coming to life. Outside, the city zips by like a distant constellation. Her eyes keep meeting mine, and I can feel it—the possibility, the danger of hope. It’s a heady mix, enough to make me dizzy. She sees it too, I think, because she leans into me, rests her head on my shoulder.
Eventually, the limo takes an exit and heads for a small airfield, slowing to a halt before the hangar.
"What…?" Naomi looks outside, then at me, confusion and curiosity in her gaze.
"Come on," I urge as the driver is already opening the door for us. "You’ll see."
We step out of the vehicle, and I take her hand in mine.
The field stretches out in front of us, and the balloon at the launch pavilion is already waiting. I watch Naomi’s face, waiting for her reaction.
She turns to me, her eyes wide. "You’re kidding, right?"
"Surprise?" I offer, fully aware how over-the-top it is.
Her laugh is a startled, beautiful sound. "Ty…"
"Too much?" I worry my lip with my teeth, nervous in a way I haven’t been since the first time I told her I loved her.
She shakes her head, disbelieving. "Too much would be space travel. This is…amazing."
I grin, my uncertainty vanishing. I take her hand, feeling the warmth and the strength in her grip. "Then let’s go."
We’re greeted by the ground crew, introduced to our pilot, then informed about the safety protocols.
Once all the technicalities are dealt with, we climb into the basket, and it feels like climbing into the future. The space is limited here, and there’s a tiny table next to our seats, where a bottle of champaign is ready for us.
The pilot reminds us to remain seated during the flight when we’re drinking.
I hand Naomi a glass. The bubbles seem to match the butterflies in my gut.
"Vintage," she notes, eyeing the bottle.
"Like us," I say, and she smiles around the rim.
The burner roars, the ground shifts, and we rise, rise, rise into the sunset.
