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Noah’s better idea is something I would never have predicted. Standing at City Airport, staring at a sleek white jet with the Bright Sparks logo on the tail, I have the sense that I’m falling down a rabbit hole with no end in sight. How far does it go? When will I land?
He grips my hand, intertwining our fingers in that intimate way, and grins at me as we walk towards the jet, leaving his driver and his limo—so he doesn’t always use the racehorse bike—on the tarmac.
‘I suppose you think this is all very impressive,’ I say with a small laugh, being purposely ironic.
‘I already know you’re impressed by me.’ He winks and reaches up to my cheek with his spare hand, touching me lightly.
My heart squeezes. I turn back to the jet. It’s small, as in not like a passenger jet, but when we step inside and are greeted by two women in smart navy blue uniforms, I see it’s bigger than I realised. There are seats at the front, bigger than first class, in rows of two. Behind them, there’s a large table and, beyond that, some sofas and armchairs all angled towards a movie screen.
‘Jesus.’ I blink as I study the obvious glamour and luxury. ‘This is how you travel?’
He shrugs. ‘Something wrong?’
‘Are you kidding? It’s amazing. I just don’t want to go back to the real world afterwards.’ It’s a throwaway comment, but it could so easily apply to our personal relationship as well as his aeroplane. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, to cover up any misunderstanding.
He shrugs. ‘You get used to it.’
It’s not yet lunchtime and the prospect of the twenty-four hours ahead fills me with excitement.
‘You’re smiling,’ he says, his eyes latched on to my face.
I nod. ‘I was just thinking how nice it is to be doing something like this. Something just for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve...had fun. It’s...kind of nice.’
‘Nice?’ He arches a brow, but his smile is broad, like I’ve said something that’s making his heart glow too.
‘Better than nice.’ He leads us to the sofas and waits for me to settle down. There’s a seat belt low down in the cushions; I slip it around my waist.
‘You’ve done it tough the last few years?’
I shake my head. ‘Not as tough as most. I’m lucky to have such good support with Ivy. And she’s an incredible kid. Smart and funny, and sweet, and so easy. She’s always been a good sleeper, great eater, well behaved. But, yeah, there have been times when it’s been hard. I mean, just having someone to laugh with about her silly games, or whinge to when I’m exhausted and she’s not listening, or have a glass of wine with and watch a movie, someone to rub my feet when I’m tired.’ I lift my shoulders. ‘But I love my job and it keeps me busy and, other than wishing, sometimes, that Ivy had a dad in her life, I don’t regret the way I’m doing it.’
He is quiet for a moment, letting my words sink in. ‘I’ll bet you’re a great mum.’
‘I’m the best mum I can be. Some days great, other days not so much. But that’s parenthood.’ I eye him thoughtfully. ‘What about you and kids?’
He grimaces exaggeratedly. ‘As in having kids of my own?’ Another grimace. ‘No, thanks.’
He’s making light of the question, so I laugh, just a small laugh, but something the exact opposite of amusement courses through me. I tell myself it’s just surprise—surprise he can be so adamant about not wanting children when the experience is so
rewarding. If I can say that—when I’ve borne a child to a person I hate, when I’ve raised that child on my own—then surely anyone can.
‘You don’t like kids?’
‘From a distance? If I can’t hear them or smell them? I like them okay.’
I roll my eyes. ‘They’re not that bad.’
‘Sure. They’re just not for me.’ He’s grinning, like he doesn’t realise the significance of this conversation. Like he doesn’t comprehend that it is an admission that immediately restricts our relationship. I mean, it was probably already limited by who we are, but I don’t know. There’s something so different about Noah and the way I feel with him that, without overthinking this, I would have said it was impossible to define what we are and where this will end up.
But an unnegotiable aversion to kids is a deal-breaker. I mean, I have one. But I’d like to have another one day. Holly would be a great sister and I’ve always clung to the hope that some day in the future I’d have what I so badly coveted as a single mother. A real family.
A loud family.
A family who talked and laughed and shared ideas and went on holidays together.
‘Excuse me, Mr Moore?’ A stewardess approaches us with an efficient click of her shoes. ‘Can I get you a drink before take-off?’ Her smile encompasses us both.
