Page 131 of Lucky 22

“No, I know that, but this trip was trickier because you hadno idea how long those interviews would be.”

“That’s why we’re on the red eye. There was no way you wouldstill be talking to any entertainment sites at ten at night. This was the safechoice.”

“Brilliant.” I sigh happily and secure my seat belt. “I lovethat our moms are working together to coordinate lunch tomorrow. I can’t waitto see everyone, and for everyone to meet Emmy. She’s a member of the familynow,” I say with a giggle. “Oh, I can’t wait for Emmy to meet MVP!” referringto Christian’s World Series MVP trophy.

She’s lovingly packed in my carry-on suitcase in theoverhead bin. There was no way I was trusting her in any checked luggage.

“You are going to be celebrated for sure,” he says, takingmy hand and linking our fingers together. “I can’t even imagine how many peoplewill be there.”

“The last head count was twenty-seven. Not including us.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

We sit back and people watch for a few minutes, and I don’tfully relax until the pilot announces that we are clear for takeoff.

That’s when I know it’s almost time to go to sleep.

Only…I don’t.

The flight attendants do a quick offering of snacks andbeverages, and we decide to eat and drink a little something. I watch a fewepisodes of a home renovation show to help me unwind, but by the third episode,I’ve lost interest. Yet I’m still not quite ready to doze off.

Which is weird for me.

It’s quiet in that strange way airplanes always are aftermidnight—dimmed lights, a low hum, shadows of strangers tucked beneathblankets. Christian’s hand is warm, threaded through mine where it restsbetween us, and even though I should be exhausted after the craziness of thelast few days, I’m wide awake.

He shifts slightly, tilting his head toward me. “You okay?”he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

“I’m fine,” I whisper back. “I don’t know why I’m stillawake.”

He smiles, eyes barely open. “I promise no one’s going tosteal your Emmy. They’ll have to get through me first. I’m all over it.” Thewords are barely out before he yawns.

I roll my eyes, even as warmth fills my chest. “My hero.”

“We don’t all wear capes,” he says, soft amusement in hisvoice, but then his eyes meet mine. His expression grows serious. “I’m proud ofyou. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being proud of you.”

I swallow, trying not to get emotional at thirty thousandfeet. “Thank you. I’m still processing it. It feels unreal. Like I borrowedsomeone else’s moment.”

“Yeah,” he says gently, squeezing my hand. “Except youdidn’t. You earned it. You worked for it. And I got the best seat in the world,watching it happen.”

I lean into his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of hisbreathing. “The next few days are going to be crazy,” I whisper. “Family chaos.Pictures. Hugs. My mom crying…”

“Your dad pretending he isn’t,” he adds with a grin I canhear more than see.

“And maybe yours finally being impressed.”

“I don’t know. He could surprise you,” he says, a quietlaugh beneath his breath.

We fall into a comfortable silence; each temporarily lost inour own thoughts.

“Hey,” he murmurs after a moment, softer now. “I’m glad weget this time. Just us. Even if it is in cramped airplane seats.”

“Me, too,” I whisper. “Right now feels…good.”

He turns his head and presses a light kiss to my temple.“Get some sleep, Mrs. Emmy Winner.”

I let my eyes close, the world narrowing to his warmth, themuted hum of the plane, and the steady certainty of the man beside me.