Page 3 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

2

JANNA

Iturned on the blinker to take a left, following the sign that promised I was heading in the right direction. I had seriously begun to question myself. I was in the middle of nowhere. Reddington Rescue Airfield was really outside of town.

I couldn’t resist rolling down my window and taking in the fresh air. I had flown straight from Anchorage to Denver, picked up a rental car, and made the drive south. Sabrina Carpenter was singing about an immature ex. Been there, done that.

“Finally,” I exclaimed when I saw the airfield up ahead.

It was about to be my home for the next three to five months, depending on the need. I couldn’t wait. A sign pointed out the employee parking and I realized the little Toyota was out of place amongst the pickups and SUVs.

It was only a rental. If I got to stay, I would buy something more practical for the Colorado weather. I climbed out of the car, opened the back door to get my purse, and then went to the trunk. Now, not everyone packed cookies in their checked luggage, but I wasn’t just anyone. I loved baking. I loved giving away cookies. And I loved breaking the ice with yummy treats. They were a surefire way to connect and make things less awkward.

After pulling the cookies from my suitcase and putting them into my massive purse that looked like a Coach but was really just a cheap knock-off, I jerked my suitcase out of the trunk. I quickly pulled up the handle, adjusted my sunglasses, and shut the trunk.

“Be cool, Janna. You are capable. You totally deserve this job. You earned it.”

I needed a cookie. I couldn’t do this without a bit of sugar. I opened the Ziploc bag and pulled one out. It was quality control. I needed to make sure I didn’t feed my new boss and coworkers bad cookies. What if they had gotten a weird taste on the flight over?

I could justify anything if it meant I could get a bite of a sweet something.

“Good to see you, Janna!”

I looked up and saw an older gentleman walking toward me. I recognized his face from the Zoom interview. It was Chuck Reddington, the owner of the whole place.

He ambled over wearing a white button-up shirt with the logo of Reddington Rescue over his left breast pocket. He had on jeans, and his shirt was tucked in, barely holding back the belly that hung over his belt. A head full of white hair and matching bushy white eyebrows gave him a bit of a Santa Claus look—minus the beard.

“That’s me.” I smiled and extended my hand.

He shook it with a bright smile. “How was the drive out here?” he asked.

“Long,” I said with a laugh. “I brought cookies.”

I held out the bag, feeling a little ridiculous.

He arched one eyebrow and offered a small smile. “Don’t tell my wife.”

I winked. “It will be our little secret.”

“Can I take your bag?”

“I’ve got it.”

“I know we’ve already met on a video call, but I’m Chuck, and everyone calls me Chief.”

“It’s nice to meet you in person, Chief.”

Chief Reddington munched happily on my cookies and pointed out buildings like he was giving a tour of his pride and joy.

“Do these oatmeal things have crack in them?” he asked through a mouthful, inspecting the third cookie he’d quickly made his way through.

I grinned back. “No crack, Chief. Just extra cinnamon and a splash of Alaskan boredom. And a secret ingredient.”

There wasn’t a secret ingredient. Not really. It was all about the vanilla. I used the good stuff. Not the cheap, watered-down stuff. Maybe that was a secret.

“These are damn good.” He reached into the Ziploc again as we walked.

I’d made them the night before I left—mostly to use up the last of my pantry ingredients in Anchorage. Everyone loved my cookies. I made a variety of flavors, but the chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin were hits. And yeah, people thought of oatmeal raisin and automatically assumed it was an old people cookie. Not mine. Mine were amazing.