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“Alright,” I say. “Gonna get you a coffee. Be right back.”

“I didn’t ask for a coffee,” she says.

“Uh, yes, you did.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want one anymore.”

I shoot her a stern look. She’s being a bit of a brat, but I don’t mind it.

“Serena, you can sit down. You’re already acting up, and I can’t put you in your place until tonight, baby,” I say firmly. “I will be right back.”

Her jaw drops. I shrug, turning on my heel to make my way to the coffee shop a few gates down. If she didn’t like it when I treated her like this, I wouldn’t do it. But she loves it, it’s written all over the little pout on her lips paired with the glitter in her eyes.

I stand in line for the café. I’ve stood in a thousand lines for coffee in airport cafés before, but today is different.

Today, I have her, and that changes everything.

CHAPTER THITY-FIVE

SERENA

I fall asleep on the plane, my head on his shoulder. When I wake, we’ve landed in the Bluegrass Airport. We’re the last passengers aboard; it’s just us and dozens of empty rows. A flight attendant holding a bag of trash gives us an impatient stare. Guiltily, I unbuckle my seatbelt and sit up.

“You could’ve woken me sooner,” I say, blinking and cracking my neck.

“You were fine,” he says. He rises, unfurling his tall body to pop the overhead bin and pull our luggage down. “I kept you up most of last night. You needed to rest.”

“Why?” I say, even though I already know.

“So I can keep you up again.”

I roll my eyes at his back as we move down the aisle and into the airport. It’s small and oddly cozy, with a large image of racehorses on the wall and the faint smell of coffee everywhere. It has to be around six in the evening. My stomach is growling as we head outside, a misty rain hitting our faces. It smells fresh and green, like something new.

“Is this your first time in Kentucky?” he asks.

“Yeah, I only ever went to New York,” I say. “And then Maine.”

A car pulls up, and we’re in another Uber.

“It’s the perfect place to disappear,” he says, resting his hand on my thigh. “I always have a good time here. Nobody fucks with me, and the people are down to earth.”

I lean my forehead on the glass and watch the muggy green hills pass by. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a farm, about an hour outside the city.”

“Like a lodge?”

“No,” he says. “I own it.”

I shake my head. “Of course you do.”

“It’s not like that. A lot of my properties have people living in them, some clients need a leg up, a cheap place to stay. Production companies don’t always pay well up front.”

That puts things in a different light.

“Really? You put them up?”

He shrugs. “Occasionally. It’s my job to make them successful.”