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“I’ll have the chicken, please.”
“Same for me,” Dave says, “and a glass of the Burgundy, please.” Then he turns to me. “I’m sorry, did you want wine?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to keep it to one drink.”
“Sounds good.”
A few moments later, my sidecar arrives, and I take a drink of the cocktail made with cognac, lemon juice, and a sugared edge. It’s always been one of my favorites. I finish, and when our dinners arrive, I ask for water.
Dave and I don’t talk a lot as we eat, which is fine. The chicken is great—another perk of this first-class ticket I didn’t pay for. You can’t go wrong with tender chicken breast stuffed with ham and cheese topped with a Dijon and white-wine sauce. Still, though, the nerves about the flight are there, and I only finish about half my dinner. Then I close my eyes, hoping to escape my anxiety.
And hoping that my dinner stays down.
Someone nudges me.
“Hey, Maddie.”
I open my eyes. It’s Dave.
“Baby, we landed.”
My vision is blurry. I blink a few times to focus. “Are you kidding me? I slept through the whole thing?”
Yeah, I did, because I have to go to the bathroom really badly. I’ll have to wait until we get off the plane at this point.
“You did. It was a totally smooth flight. No turbulence at all.” He lifts the shade on my window. “See? We’re here, Maddie. We’re in Denver. We’re almost home.”
I heave a sigh of relief. The plane is taxiing, and it stops when we get to our gate.
“I can’t believe it’s over.”
He grins. “See? I told you we were pre-disastered.”
I give him a good-natured swat in the arm. “Yeah, you did.”
We remove our seatbelts and gather our carry-ons. A few moments later we’re deplaning. Brock and Brianna are in front of us.
“All right,” Brock says. “On to baggage claim and then through customs. I’ve got a driver waiting to take us home.”
“Ugh,” I say. “A four-hour drive.”
“You’ll be comfortable, Maddie. We’ll be in a limo.”
I’ve been in more limos since this whole thing began than I’ve ever been in my life. Crazy stuff.
But I can’t think about any of it anymore.
I’m oddly awake, though, probably because I slept through the whole flight.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“It’s eight p.m.,” Brock says, “Colorado time.”
My stomach lets out a growl. “I’m kind of hungry.”
“Yeah, we’ll grab a bite before we take the long drive home.”
Dave whispers in my ear. “I’m kind of disappointed. You were asleep, so we couldn’t join the mile high club.”
