Page 31 of Keeping a Warrior

Please don’t. Please be different.

All he said was “Cool!” as he tucked the flashlight back in his pack. The double rows of passenger windows, the missing doors, allowed moonlight to flood this part of the plane. A dusty wind whistled eerily through and rustled the loose insulation.

Devon shivered when she glanced up and saw a hole in the ceiling.

“Okay, maybe this is a little creepy,” she admitted.

Rhys didn’t answer, since he was trying the door to the cockpit. He crowed when it opened and disappeared inside.

When she cautiously poked her head in, he was ensconced in the copilot’s seat flipping random switches and yanking on the yoke. She bit back a smile.

“You’re like a little kid twisting a steering wheel back and forth while pretending to ‘drive,’” she said drily.

“What’s that?” Rhys tapped his ear. “We’re cleared for takeoff? Okay, we just need the pilot.”

He waved toward the other seat, and with a grin, Devon plopped into it.

For the next several minutes they “flew” together, making zooming noises and pretending to do barrel rolls and other aerobatics. She burst out laughing when Rhys smashed his face into the little side window in response to a “roll.”

It was juvenile. It was silly. It was exactly what she needed.

“Okay, that was fun,” she pronounced when they finally wound down and high-fived each other across the aisle.

Rhys’s eyes were bright with mirth. “C’mon, let’s go be passengers for a while.”

They made their way out into the main cabin. Most of the seats had been removed, but right over the wing, by one of the missing exit doors, they found two still bolted down.

The fabric belched a cloud of dust when Devon sank into it, and the acrid smell of mildew tickled her nose. Still, she hit the arm button to recline her seat and stretched out with a sigh. Next to her, Rhys did the same.

“Where’re we headed?”

“I dunno.” Rhys crossed his arms behind his head, his legs kicked out, feet crossed at the ankle. “Where do you want to go?”

“Um, how about Paris?”

“Paris it is.”

They drifted for a while until Devon murmured, “I’m hungry and there’s no food on this flight.”

“Au contraire.” Rhys winked at her. “See what I did there? Spoke French on the way to Paris?”

“I got it. I got it.” Devon rolled her eyes and waggled her fingers impatiently. “That’s right, you said you brought snacks. Hand ’em over.”

He tossed her a packet of peanut butter crackers. She offered him a couple and they munched in a companionable silence. At last Devon dusted her hands off and washed the last of the peanut butter down with a swig of tepid water.

“Hit the spot. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are we in Paris yet?”

Rhys sat up a little and peered out the window. “Not yet.”

“Darn. I was looking forward to a croissant.”

With a snicker Rhys asked, “Have you ever been?”

“To Paris? No.” Devon stretched out her legs, too. “Spent a couple of months in Germany when we were in garrison there, though. I loved it.”