AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“So, what’s the surprise?” I query, watching Clayton’s hair blown by the breeze as he drives. We’re in his Bentley, going—somewhere. Even after almost an hour on the road, he still hasn’t told us.
“Can you be patient like the kids?” He fixes his fringe, which the wind instantly messes up again. Messy or sleek, Clayton Hartley has a healthy head of hair that smells delightful and makes you glad that men exist.
I watch Matty and Raffi. They’re busy catching up with their Minecraft strategies. The boys have been playing online together, with Matty giving loads of tips to Raffi that my son apparently got to his best position on the leaderboard yet.
So Clayton is guarding his surprise. He’s not the only one who’s capable of devising one. Wait until he receives mine—although right now, that surprise is at the mercy of the U.S. mail.
“Are we flying somewhere?” Raffi asks.
Now it becomes clear. We’re going into Clayton’s domain.
“Better than that, buddy,” Clayton replies, driving around the airbase. “This is the back way. Actually, I prefer to call it ‘the VIP way.’” He parks near a hangar.
“This is way cool!” Raffi exclaims, realizing this isn’t going to be an ordinary day. People are here to fly fighter jets!
“Is Raffi going to be flying in one of those?” It is ‘way cool,’ as my son says, but I can’t help thinking that he’s just a kid, not yet made for that ominous machine.
“That’s the idea.”
“Okay…” I go along with it, seeing how excited my boy is. “Who’s flying that thing?”
“Yours truly, of course.”
I feel better then.
“Wyatt!” Matty calls, running toward a man wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses and pilot overalls. He must be in his fifties, but he looks pretty dashing. What’s with these pilots and their sex appeal? Because those overalls actually look hideous on their own.
“Hey, champ!” The pilot called Wyatt hugs Matty.
“Isabelle, this is Wyatt, a former US Navy pilot and Hartley Marine’s current official pilot. But when the corporate world becomes too much for him, he comes here doing his side hustle as a tour guide.”
“Tour guide? That’s an insult, Mr. Hartley!” Wyatt banters, taking off his sunglasses. Then he extends his arm to me. “Hi, Isabelle. Nice to meet you.”
He’s got a firm handshake. The man is certainly well trained, but that disarming smile couldn’t have been part of the aviation curricula.
“Nice to meet you, Wyatt.”
“Wyatt is one of the casual pilots here, showing tourists how it’s done,” says Clayton, gazing at the military jet being tugged out of the hangar. “Raffi, you’re ready?”
“Yeah, but—” He looks at Matty. “Matty, you go first.”
“No, you go. I’m not tall enough,” Matty says slowly, perhaps not wanting to show his disappointment. “But I’ll go on the simulator. It’s cool too.”
“You’re not far off, pal. I think next year will be your year,” Clayton reassures him, putting his arm around his little brother.
Matty gives him a wordless nod.
“Good boy,” Clayton pats his shoulder, then he turns to Raffi. “Come, Raffi. I’ll get you geared up.”
“Is he old enough?” I whisper.
“When I fly, no one’s too young. It’s the height that matters. Your Raffi is tall enough,” he explains. “In saying that, I do need your consent.”
I smile. “Tell me where to sign.”
I then wait outside with Wyatt and Matty.
“Your son will be just fine,” Wyatt assures me.
