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“You’ve been crying.”
I drop my gaze to the side before I see anything that might resemble pity, or fake concern in his eyes.
“I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”
He lets go of my arms but stays close to me. He’s shirtless. Beads of sweat have gathered over his perfectly defined torso, collecting in the small dusting of dark hair that covers his pecs. They look so soft. Like the perfect place to rest your head and be held. To be safe. To be protected.
You’d never feel alone lying on a chest like Jet’s.
“Cover yourself up, for fuck’s sake.”
I force my feet to move and push past him, abandoning my bagel and juice.
“I’ll be ready in twenty-five,” I snap as I stride out of theroom.
The head office of Atlantic Airways is truly something. Jet left me in their large café area while he went off to speak to people. But once my latte is finished and he still isn’t back, I begin to wander.
There are training drills for the flight attendant’s going on behind a giant glass wall. They’re all dressed in boiler suits and sliding down a large evacuation slide that’s rigged up to some industrial looking stairs. I watch them for a while, fascinated, before following a wide corridor adorned with photographs from the airline’s history on the walls.
I stop at one of a younger Magnus with a much older man with familiar striking blue eyes. The plaque beneath reads,Magnus Grant and his grandfather, Atlantic Airways’ founder, Cedric Grant.
I carry on walking and the corridor opens up into a double-height foyer with small trees in giant pots scattered about. In the center is a vintage-looking plane with two large flat wings on either side of the fuselage. It must be a life-sized replica or something. I’ve never seen anything like it.
I glance around as I walk over to it, but the space is deserted.
The metal is cool as I place my hand on it. I stroke my palm along the side as I look at it in awe. I’ve seen a few types of small aircraft. But never one with two wings on top of the other before.
“It’s a wing-walker.”
I jump at Jet’s deep voice and pull my hand away.
“It’s fine. You can touch it.” He walks over to join me, standing beside me as he looks over the plane with a tight-lipped expression.
“Is it a replica?”
He shoves his hands into his pant pockets. “No.”
“You have an actual plane in the office?” I admire it again, running my hand over its faded blue paintwork.
“We are an airline,” he clips.
I meet his eyes and there’s a glint of amusement in his, but it’s gone in a flash.
“Besides, it probably wouldn’t fly now. It’s the last undamaged one of its kind. Most were destroyed when newer models were designed.”
“It’s amazing.” I smile. “Have you always had it in here?” It’s a small plane, but it’s still a huge thing to have on display like this.
“For the last thirty-three years. My father bought it just before I was born.”
“Oh.”
Jet’s phone rings in his pocket, and he pulls it out, frowning at the screen.
“I need to take this. Then we’ll leave.”
Before I can ask where we’re going next, he brings the phone to his ear.
“Francesca?” Her name rolls off his tongue like warm honey.
