Page 156 of Aviatrix

Not this polished pleasantry show.

Lark makes his move and steers her to the table next to Eli’s. Of course he does.

It’s a calculated jab, a passive-aggressive reminder of who’s still “beside” me.

I want to reach for Eli, to pull him over, to say screw the optics. But that would only make things harder for Mom. And right now? She’s had a long enough road getting here. I can wait.

For now.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Mom says, drawing my attention back to her.

If Mom knew what Eli whispered in my ear last night… if Lark knew… this whole table would detonate.

“Long night,” I reply, casually.

Lark rolls his eyes.

I ignore him. But Mom doesn’t. Her frown deepens.

“I saw the funeral,” she says, exhaling like she’s been holding it in. “Saw you run up to those reporters to warn them. You saved lives, Kinley.”

“You saw it?” I ask, startled.

She glances briefly at Lark before focusing back on me. “The coverage went dark right after. What happened out there?”

I want to answer her, I do, but Eli’s pushing back his chair, grabbing his half-eaten plate. His eyes haven’t left mine since we walked in.

“Eric?” Mom says, standing to greet him. “Kinley’s Eric?”

“Eli, Mom,” I correct gently as I stand and step between them. “It’s Eli.”

“The last time I saw you,” she says with a soft smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling, “you were singing karaoke at that little bar. What was it called?”

“The Flight Deck,” Eli and I answer in unison.

She laughs. “How are you doing? It’s been what? Seven years?”

“Eight,” he says, flashing one of those breathtaking smiles.

“Is your family alright?” she asks. “So many have been displaced.”

“They’re in Oklahoma,” he replies. “They’re safe for now.”

I wonder if he’s called them. If he’s checked on Aunt Lise. If they know where he is. If they miss him the way I do when he’s not in the room.

“I’m glad you’re safe here,” Mom tells him warmly.

“I’m glad you are, too.” And the way he says it, tender and earnest, makes my heart stutter.

“I’ve got a meeting,” he says, backing away. “Catch you later?”

“I’d like that,” Mom replies.

“Quay,” he says, soft, laced with memory of our naked bodies tangled in his sheets last night. Then, he winks.

I try not to melt. “Major,” I return, biting back a smile.

He brushes past, his fingers grazing mine. It’s a promise. A thousand of them, in one touch.