“You’re coming home?!” she gasps.
God. That word.
Home.
“Yep,” I say, stepping onto the tarmac. “About to get on a plane now, linda.”
“What airline?”
“Private jet from the studio,” I tell her.
We talk a few more minutes.
She tells me about the shop.
About Bella basking in her minor celebrity.
About Mrs. Delaney insisting she “knew that boy wasn’t single.”
I soak it in.
Her voice.
Her laugh.
The normalcy of it.
Then the flight attendant gestures.
Time.
“I gotta buckle in,” I tell her. “Call you when I land.”
“Be safe,” she says softly.
Always that.
Always be careful—like she’s worried about me. And it’s been a long time since someone was worried about me.
My chest feels tight. Warm.
“Always,” I answer, my voice gravelly.
“Alright, I lo—I mean, see you soon.”
She hangs up before I can ask her to repeat that and my heart is pounding because I know she was about to say it. She was gonna tell me she loves me.
And fuck, if that doesn’t make me the happiest man alive.
But she’s right to wait.
I’ll say it to her first. In person.
Because she deserves that from me.
The sky is heavy.
Low. Gray in a way I don’t love.