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The silence grows stilted as I shift my feet and grasp for something to say. John watches me for a moment longer then pulls me into a hug. I stand stiffly in his arms, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He places a light kiss on my head. “Let yourself be loved, Stella Button. You deserve it.”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer but takes my hand and leads me back to the kitchen.
Dinner is served around the kitchen table, and I dig in, surprisingly hungry. Or maybe it’s just that it’s Corinne’s food.
“You fly today, Stella?” Corinne asks.
“I took John up for a ride,” I say between mouthfuls of pot roast and mashed potatoes. “Showed him a few tricks.”
Hank grunts. “Bring any air sickness bags?”
Across from me, John bites back a smile. He knows he’s being baited.
“Actually,” I say, “I think I might have created a convert.”
John nods. “You have. Shocked the shi—heck out of me, though. I had no idea Stella could do that,” he explains to Corinne mostly, since Hank still hasn’t stopped giving John the gimlet eye, as though he expects John to steal the silverware.
Logic tells me it’s because he saw John and I mauling each other, but he’s not exactly parental toward me, so I don’t know why he seems to dislike John.
“Stella’s a great pilot,” Hank says, all squinty-eyed. “Precise, clear-headed, but able to think outside the box when needed.”
It’s the most Hank has ever complimented me, and I find myself wanting to sink under the table to hide my blush.
“’Course, when she was sixteen, she just wanted to hurtle through ground school so she could get up there and do endless loops in the sky.” Hank snorts. “If she had her way, she would have looped herself across the Atlantic.”
I grin. “What a way to go, though.”
John chuckles. “What was Stella like as a teen?”
“Shorter.” Hank winks at me.
“Skinnier,” I say ruefully.
Corinne touches my shoulder. “She was skin and bones.” A shadow passes over her eyes as her lips tighten a fraction, before her expression eases. “But we put some good meat back on those bones.”
I realize she’s thinking about my dad’s distinct lack of parenting, which included forgetting about providing meals, and how I often came here starving for whatever food she’d give me. My dinner sits heavy in my belly and everything tightens. Am I shoving food in my mouth now because I’m truly hungry, or out of habit?
Setting my fork down, I push a smile. “Corinne makes the best pies. Please tell me there’s pie for dessert.”
“Lemon meringue.” She laughs softly when I do a little fist pump.
John watches, clearly amused. “I can picture teen Stella now. You should come out here more often, Button.”
I know I should. I know this every time I visit. But when I leave, it’s easier to stay away and not be reminded that I don’t have a real family of my own. I shrug lightly. “It’s hard to do without a car. But I’ve been saving up for one.”
Hank helps himself to more of everything. “You should move out here. Save yourself time and money, instead of living in that noisy, overpriced city.”
“Hank,” Corinne says in her low way, “what young woman wants to leave the excitement of Manhattan to come out here?”
Hank grunts and shovels a forkful of roasted carrots into his mouth.
I sit back and rest my hands on my belly. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about it.”
John stills, his dark brows lowering in a frown, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“My apartment went condo, and I’m thinking of a career change.” I don’t know why I’m spilling this to Corinne and Hank. But it feels good to talk to people who know what that apartment meant to me. Maybe I view them as parental influences more than I’d realized. Either way, I’ve opened my mouth, and I have to continue. “I’m not saying I’ve decided anything, but moving closer to the airport has crossed my mind.”
“Good,” Hank says, setting down his fork. “You want a job at the school, you know it’s yours. As soon as you get an instructor certificate,” he adds, as if I didn’t know.
“Thanks, Hank.”
“You love the city,” John says quietly. There’s a look in his eyes, disappointed and a little bit pissed off, but he’s trying not to show it. “I thought you loved your job too.”
I poke at a carrot with my fork. “I think my time as a professional friend is coming to a close.”
“Ridiculous job,” Hank mutters under his breath.
“Hank,” Corinne chides, slapping at his arm.
Again, I fight the urge to slip under the table. Why, oh, why did I bring this up? Big mouth strikes again. I clear my throat. “The fact is, I’ll soon need a place to call home. Killian isn’t going to be gone forever.”
