Page 75 of Yours to Keep

Me: It’s worth the risk.

By six o’clock on Friday evening, I was parked on the opposite side of the street from the staff lot with my engine idling, watching the hospital exit like a hawk. She’d been nervous about me picking her up from here, but there was so much activity at this time of day between shift changes and patient visiting hours that no one had even glanced in my direction.

At exactly seven minutes past six, she walked out with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Shrugging into a light jacket, she spotted my car and shook her head, but she still smiled as she approached.

“We’re really doing this,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat.

“Of course, we are,” I countered. “Especially now that I know you’re actually coming. The suspense was killing me.”

“I haven’t decided if this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me or a catastrophic lapse in judgment.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive.”

She laughed under her breath, buckling her seatbelt as she settled back in her seat. “Maybe not, but I felt like a fugitive trying to leave the hospital without being seen.”

“Even if someone did see you getting into my car, there’s no way they saw me.” I pulled into traffic, feeling her glancing at me every few seconds like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “The windows, Bree. They’re tinted. No one saw us together. You can relax.”

“You’re very calm,” she said after exhaling a deep, long breath. “How is it possible that you’re so completely calm?”

I shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I be? You’re here. I’m here. We’re about to spend the entire weekend together far away from prying eyes.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I think I’m just still trying to process all of that.” She turned toward the window, just watching the city slide by like she was trying to make sure we’d really made a clean getaway.

Twenty minutes later, however, as the skyline thinned and the road angled toward the outskirts, she frowned. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“I’m pretty sure that sentence has been used in every true crime documentary ever made.”

“Just trust me, okay? You’re going to love this.” I smiled and kept driving, not giving her any hints at all despite how many times she asked.

When the road curved toward the private airstrip, she straightened in her seat and immediately caught on. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No, absolutely not. You did not⁠—”

She cut herself off when I stopped next to security and rolled down my window. The guard waved us through without hesitation and she gawked at me. Her mouth fell open as the hangars came into view.

“That is not our plane,” she said firmly as I parked beside a sleek white jet.

I switched off the engine and turned toward her, unable to stop the smirk ghosting across my lips. “It is.”

She stared at me like she’d never met me before. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You own a plane?”

“I prefer the term have access to.” I grinned. “On a permanent, uninterrupted basis.”

“You own a plane,” she repeated faintly, her head shaking over and over again. “This is…”

When she trailed off, I chuckled and opened my door. “Come on. The Bahamas are waiting.”

“The…” She trailed off again, blinking hard, fast, and way too many times. “What?”

“The Bahamas. You’ve heard of the place, right?” I climbed out and shut my door, walking around the car to open hers and extending my hand toward her. “Are you coming?”