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The fasten seatbelts light pings off, so I unbuckle mine and lean forward to stretch my lower back muscles.
“This is a lot better than coach,” I tell Charlotte, who’s been flicking through the in-flight magazine or her phone ever since we sat down. I imagine she either wants to look at something that isn’t me or is trying to appear busy so I don’t attempt to bring up what happened this morning.
But bring it up, I damn well will. That whole thing gave me a glimmer, a brief glimpse through the window, of what could be. I can’t let the chance just drift by. I have to seize it. It was the sign I’ve always hoped for, that she might feel the same way. The look on her face, the way she sank into my hands when I ran them up her thighs?—
“Champagne?” the smiling attendant asks, standing beside me, a white cloth draped around a bottle.
I turn to Charlotte. “Want a celebratory drink?”
She looks up from her phone and wrinkles her forehead. “What would we be celebrating?”
“You being a genius and pulling together a whole new plan to get the hub shipshape in time for Monday.”
“It hasn’t happened yet.” Her voice bristles with skepticism and a hint of fear. “I’m not celebrating anything until the whole thing is done, the launch event is over, and Netto thinks it was a roaring success.”
“Is that a no?” the attendant asks.
“Sorry, yes.” Charlotte tells her. “Could I just have some water, please?”
“Of course,” the attendant replies. “My colleague will be here with that in a second.” She moves on to the passengers in front, holds up the bottle, and repeats her question. “Champagne?”
Charlotte’s eyes instantly drop back to her phone, and the scrolling resumes.
I straighten and place my hand on the arm of her seat in an attempt to regain her attention. What I really want to do is place it on her arm, but she doesn’t seem in the mood for physical contact. Anyway, the chair is touching Charlotte, so at least I’m in contact with something connected to her.
Starting this conversation isn’t easy. But I’m sure as fuck going to have it. No way in hell am I throwing away this chance—the chance for it to be my turn to get the dream girl.
I ignore the flutter of nerves low in my chest and lean toward her. “Charlotte.”
She looks up from her phone, her eyes instantly landing on mine. “That sounds serious.”
I nod. “I think we should talk abou?—”
“Water?” Another equally smiley attendant is by my side, holding up two small bottles.
“Great, thank you.” I take them both, pass one to Charlotte, and ease my body back around to face her, steeling myself. “It’s important we address what happ?—”
“What snacks would you like?” Christ, is the attendant still there? I twist as far as I’m able and look up at him as he continues. “We have kettle chips, pretzels, dry-roasted edamame.”
“Nothing for me, thanks.” I turn back to Charlotte.
“You should definitely have something,” she says. “You haven’t eaten since the muffin in the cab this morning.”
While it warms my heart that she’s concerned about me, my snack intake isn’t exactly a pressing matter at the moment. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” She looks over my head at the attendant. “He’ll have the edamame, and I’ll take the pretzels, please.”
“Coming right up,” the attendant says.
My blood pressure rises, partially out of frustration at not being able to have the talk we need to have, and partially because she’s deliberately trying to avoid it, and that can’t mean anything good.
“You need protein,” Charlotte says. “For your muscles to heal.”
I smile to prevent the tension from taking over my face. “I’m adding dietitian to your list of skills, along with superhuman organizing and magical massage.”
She looks away and places her bottle of water on the shelf under the window, her expression saying that having her hands all over my body is the last thing she wants to be reminded of.
I take a deep breath. Here goes everything. “About that, Charlotte. Look, I’m worried I might have crossed a li?—”
