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“Getting better, though. A recovering windbag, I guess. A few days of yoga has turned my life around, set me on the straight and narrow.”
“Youwish,” she teases. “It’s gonna take more than four days of soaking in Skye’s wisdom to get a guy like you to change his ways.”
“I’m changing some of my ways, though. No more cheeseburgers. And all of my chocolate pudding from here on out will be made out of avocado.”
She arches a brow. “Really?” I let her try to figure me out for a second but then crack a smile.
“No, kidding. The first thing I’m going to do when we get back to town is order a burger and beer from The Moon.”
She nods. “Now, that sounds more like it.”
A frown tugs at her lips and she hugs herself as a breeze swirls around us. “That’s not far off, you know. We’re heading home tomorrow afternoon.”
“Hard to believe it.” Her eyes flit over my shoulder, out to where the helicopter is parked. “I think Danielle liked seeing you fly that thing. She was enamored. Do not razz me about that word, either. I know you know it.”
“Means gold-plated, right?”
She gives a little laugh and pushes my arm lightly again. “Come on, doofus. I mean she loved seeing you as a hot-stuff macho pilot, the Aviator glasses and everything…”
“Yeah?”
I don’t care about Danielle.
Olivia’s eyes rest on my face like she’s trying to read me. “I think you have a shot with her if you want it.”
“Maybe that’s what I wanted before, but not anymore.”
“Whatdoyou want, Cole?”
Now it’s happening.
But I don’t feel ready.
I’m an athlete who’s been passed the ball for the game-winning goal, and I’m freezing up.
I’m nothing but an amateur at this dating thing, and she just asked me a question only a pro could answer.
She wants me to be direct. If I was a different guy, I’d lay it all out there. I’d tell Olivia that I’m into her—way,wayinto her—and I’d ask her out for a real date. Maybe dinner and a movie. Something romantic.
But I’m not a different guy. I’mme.
Flying Olivia through the air, thousands of feet above the earth, was the only way I knew to make it clear how I feel.
She waits for me to answer her.
What do I want? I want you, Olivia.
She waits and waits. But my hesitation stretches too long.
Her eyes pinch with pain. She winces. “I shouldn’t put you on the spot.”
“It’s not that, Olivia.”
It’s that I’ve never been good with women. Or with words. I want you, and it’s confusing.
I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing.
Of messing this up.
