Page 60 of Wells

At the terminal, he disappears inside while I wait. Twenty minutes later, he's back, sliding into the seat beside me without explanation.

"All set?"

"Yeah."

The driver pulls back onto the road, and we head to the airport.

The flight home is smooth. Wells works for the first hour, then closes his laptop and leans back in his seat. I do the same, letting the drone of the engines fill the silence.

By the time we land in New Orleans, it's early afternoon, the sun still high over the tarmac.

He walks me to a black SUV idling nearby, my ride home, I assume. He doesn't say much, but carries my bag and opens the back door for me when we get there.

I wonder if whatever happened between us, the sex, and then in the bed after, stays in Florida. I don't want expectations, like Locke's always warning me, but I'm not sure how you open up to someone without starting to want more from it.

"See you Monday," I say, looking for a sign.

"Yeah. Thanks for your hard work on the Rotterdam stuff. Don't do anything else this weekend. We're close. We can finish it next week."

Looks like we are back to business as usual.

"Of course. Thank you."

At home, I shower and change, order takeout, and settle on the couch with the book I've been failing to finish for weeks.

My phone rings just after eight.

I glance at the screen to see that it's Wells.

"Hello?"

"You get home all right?"

The call catches me off guard, the question more so.

"I did manage to survive the terrifying distance between the airport and my front door."

He doesn't laugh, but I hear something shift in his breathing.

"Good. Just wanted to check on you."

I press my palm against my forehead, a giant smile breaking out across my face. No one checks on me.

"Thanks for asking."

"Of course. Have a good night, Cera. See you Monday."

"You too, Wells."

He ends the call, and I sit there, phone still in my hand, trying to make the moment more casual. It doesn't work.

I stand outside the dressing room holding three ties Locke tossed over the door five minutes ago.

"I look like I'm about to sell you insurance."

I glance at the navy pinstripe draped over his shoulder.

"You look fine."