Flying Page 14

  “Girrrrl.” Jen laughed softly. “Well, you’re comfy, right?”

  “Yes. And it’s not like I don’t know this guy. I mean, he’s seen me dressed in all kinds of things already.” Stella had told Jen the Craig saga in brief, leaving out the intimate details, saying only that they’d become friends before her divorce and then lost touch.

  “Friends to loooovers,” Jen teased until Stella shushed her. “Are you nervous?”

  Surprisingly and tellingly, she was not. “No. It’s a date, but...not. If that makes sense.”

  “He thinks it’s a date,” Jen said.

  “Shit. Should I put on a dress?”

  “Do you want to wear a dress?”

  She did not. A dress meant heels and hose; it meant a different hairstyle and makeup. “No. I guess not.”

  “You’re going to have fun tonight. And, girl, I’m proud of you, can I tell you that?”

  It was Stella’s turn to laugh. “Why?”

  “Because you’re getting out there. Getting you some.”

  For the first time, Stella thought about telling Jen at least a little something about her weekend turnarounds, but thought better of it. “It’s one date, Jen.”

  “With a guy you used to think hung the sun.”

  Stella had never put it quite that way, but it was true. “It was a long time ago. Things have changed.”

  “Maybe they haven’t,” Jen said sagely. “You don’t know until you try.”

  So Stella was trying, and she tried through dinner and the movie after it, and then the coffee and dessert that followed. All the time they’d spent together should’ve made this date less awkward than any other first date, but as Craig solicitously pulled out her chair for her and offered to add cream and sugar to her coffee, Stella could no longer deny that she was nervous.

  But this was Craig. Her Craig, who, yes, she’d thought hung the sun, once so long ago. And he hadn’t changed, had he? The same smile, same quirky sense of humor. He wore the same cologne, which did send a tingle through her, more from nostalgia than anything else.

  Once he’d been all she could think about, and now... Well, he hadn’t changed, but she sure had.

  He’d picked her up at her house. Stella had stared straight ahead during the ride home, their conversation easy but vague. He walked her to the door, and everything felt surreal. The night was still young enough that she should invite him inside. Should she? Was he going to kiss her?

  “Do you want to come inside?” She blurted the words before she could second-guess it.

  “Do you want me to?”

  Before she could answer, the front door flung open, Tristan on the other side. It startled Stella so much that she let out a short scream. Tristan started to laugh. Craig did too, after a second.

  “Sorry. Didn’t know you were here. I’m just waiting for Dad. He was going to be back in a few minutes.”

  “What are you even doing home?”

  “Forgot my laptop,” Tristan said. “Dad dropped me off and ran to get gas, said he’d be back... There he is.”

  “Perfect,” Stella said through gritted teeth as Jeff pulled into the driveway, even though every other time he parked across the street. It wasn’t enough for him to simply wait for Tristan in the car, nope, he had to get out and stride up the front walk.

  “Hi,” Craig said before anyone else could. “I’m Craig.”

  “Jeff.”

  They did not shake hands.

  “Dad, let’s go.” Tristan gave Craig no more than a glance before leaping off the front steps and heading for the car.

  Jeff didn’t go right away. He gave Craig a blatant up-and-down assessment that had Stella taking him by the elbow to lead him off the porch. “Goodbye, Jeff.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jeff said over his shoulder with a face that said he was lying. To Stella he said in a voice thick with disdain, “Nice.”

  “I’m allowed to date, hello,” she whispered fiercely, hoping Craig couldn’t overhear them.

  “And bring him back to the house?”

  “I live here,” she told him. “You don’t. Remember? And Tristan wasn’t supposed to be home.”

  “Dad,” Tristan said. “C’mon.”

  Jeff’s lip curled and he looked over Stella’s shoulder. She didn’t dare turn to see what Craig was doing. Jeff shrugged and got in the car, rolling down the window to say, “I’ll bring him home Sunday afternoon. Do you want me to call first, in case you need to—”

  “Go,” Stella said. “Now.”

  Putting a smile on her face, she turned and went back to the porch. “Sorry.”

  Craig shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  “So...do you want to come inside?”

  “If you want me to,” he said with a small grin. “Looks like we have the place to ourselves.”

  Stella waited for the rise of heat within her, but all she felt was a little tumble-tickle of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. Inside, she directed Craig to the couch while she brought out a pitcher of iced tea and some brownies she’d made earlier—never mind the dinner and coffee and dessert they’d already had. She put the food and drink on the coffee table, and they both looked at it, then burst into shared laughter.

  “God, you always made me laugh,” she said without thinking.

  “I’ve missed you,” Craig told her. “So much.”

  Her laughter faded. “I missed you too. A lot. For a long time, Craig.”

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I thought a lot about what happened, you know. I felt...so bad. So bad. I’m sorry, Stella.”

  Sitting next to him on the couch, she found it the most natural thing to let him take her hands, but she tensed when it seemed as if he was going to pull her closer. Instead, their knees touched and fingers linked. Craig looked at their hands, then at her face.

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes. Of course. It’s been a long time,” she pointed out. “I’d have to be some kind of crazy, bitter bitch to hold on to that this long.”

  The truth was, it had taken her a long time to forgive him. Forgetting had been another matter. She hadn’t been able to do that for a lot longer.

  “Bumping into you that day at the coffee shop, it just felt right. You know?” He sounded so earnest, she didn’t have the heart to disagree. “Like...fate.”

  He’d always been one to believe in that sort of thing. There’d been a time in their daily conversations when Craig had always shared her horoscope with her. And this, comparing what was meant to be for both of them. It was one of the things she’d found so wonderful about him, this disparity between his steady, solid corporate banking demeanor and what she thought of as the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff.

  “It was bound to happen, sooner or later,” she said, though the truth was she’d avoided that coffee shop for years for just that reason. The day she’d gone there had been on a whim, unexpected. Totally by chance.

  Maybe it had been fate, after all.

  Craig’s thumb swept her palm. “I wanted to call you so many times, but I never knew if you wanted me to. I thought maybe you’d curse me out. I wouldn’t have blamed you, I guess. But I couldn’t face it. I was stupid. And the longer I waited, the less likely it seemed that you’d want to talk to me again, much less see me.... I was a coward. I’m sorry. I was afraid of what you were going to say, so I let it go until there was no way I could face you.”

  “There’s a saying. ‘The anticipation of the suffering is worse than the pain itself,’” Stella told him. Not meanly. She’d imagined herself being cruel to him, should she ever have the chance, but had no desire for that now.

  “Yeah. I know. I was an idiot.”

  She shook her head. “It was an impossible situation. You weren’t wrong.”


  “I was wrong,” Craig said in a low voice, meeting her gaze without looking away. “I didn’t have to be such a jerk. I was an idiot.”

  “Fine. You were an idiot.”

  “An enormous one,” Craig said with a small smile.

  Stella laughed, finally. “Yes. Gigantic. Huge. Do you feel better now?”

  “I’d feel better if you let me kiss you.”

  And just like that, the air left the room. She tried to breathe, but got only a gasp for her efforts. Stella blinked rapidly against the sudden rush of heat in her face.

  She didn’t say no.

  Craig kissed her, and she opened for it, helpless not to. Not after all this time. When his hand threaded through her hair, tipping her a little deeper into his kiss, Stella breathed out a sigh. Not a moan. A simple exhalation.

  The kiss ended, but they didn’t pull apart. Slowly, Craig let his fingers slide from her hair, but his breath still caressed her face. She opened her eyes to see him looking at her.

  “I’m sorry,” Stella said. “I can’t do this.”

  She got up from the couch as soon as the words left her mouth. She didn’t want to look at him. Wasn’t sure what she’d see on his face, not certain she could handle whatever it was. The moment his mouth had touched hers, everything she’d told herself she’d gotten over had come rushing back to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  Craig stood. “Do you want me to leave?”

  “Yes.” She shook her head. “No. I mean...not like that. I mean...”

  “It’s okay,” he told her. “I understand.”

  She looked at him then. “No. You can’t. I mean, I don’t even understand. It’s just that it’s been so long, you know, and really, you’re kind of a stranger to me. I just don’t feel comfortable taking this...there. Now.”

  He frowned and ran a hand through his dark hair for a moment before straightening his shoulders. “I get it. I just saw you and we had such a good time tonight. Or, I mean, I did. And I know it’s been a long time, and I was an asshole when it ended—”

  “Yes,” Stella said suddenly, voice cold. Anger she’d been trying to deny rushed over her, twisting her guts. “You were.”

  Craig said nothing at first. Then he nodded. “I’ll just go.”

  “I think you should. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said, too sharply. Softer, he added, “Could I still call you, though? I’d like to see if we can be friends, at least.”

  Stella was wary of that. They’d tried it once before, after all, and it hadn’t gone well. “I don’t know. Sometimes when you give something up, you can’t get it back.”

  “I understand,” Craig said again.

  This time, she didn’t contradict him. “There were lots of times when all I wanted was for you to say you were sorry. So, thanks for that.”

  He smiled a little. “There were lots of times when all I wanted was for you to let me apologize. So...thanks for letting me.”

  They looked at each other with a distance between them that could not be crossed. She wanted to, if only because once being in his arms had made her feel as if she could face anything, though the comfort had been fleeting and not without a heavy price. But she could not make herself move now.

  “I had a good time tonight. But I’m not ready for this with you. Don’t,” Stella added with a hand up, “say you understand again. Please.”

  He laughed with genuine humor. She joined him a few seconds later, a little more cautious but no less sincere. He shook his head and gave her a sideways glance, eyes crinkled in the corners in the way that had once set her heart pitter-patting. She walked him to the front door in silence and held it open while he went through. On the porch, Craig turned to face her.

  “I won’t call you if you don’t want me to. And I’ll completely understand if you don’t want me to. But I hope that we can at least part on a good note.” He held out his hand.

  Stella took it. “Yes. We can do that.”

  For a moment, he looked as if he meant to say more than that, but common sense closed his mouth. He gave her a wave just as he got to his car, and there was a second or so when Stella thought about running after him, if for no other reason than for that long ago once-upon-a-time.

  But in the end, all she did was watch him drive away the way she had done so long ago.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I don’t care,” Stella said to her stubborn-faced son who was pouting by the kitchen counter, spreading crumbs as if he were trying to plant a toast garden from seed. “You’re not staying here by yourself. Not overnight, and certainly for the whole weekend. No way. We’ve already had this discussion.”

  “They’re having some sort of party.” Tristan’s expression made it clear what he thought of Cynthia’s parties.

  Stella looked at the clock. They had to leave or she was going to be late. She hadn’t even showered yet.

  “Did your dad say he didn’t want you to come?”

  “No. But I don’t want to.”

  “Oh, Tristan, for God’s sake. Stay in your room the whole time. It’s what you’d do here anyway.”

  His gaze gleamed, and he waved his toast around. “Exactly! So why can’t I stay here?”

  “Because you’re sixteen years old,” Stella told him flatly. “And I’m going to be out of town.”

  “Where are you going, anyway?”

  “Photoshop training workshop.” She lied smoothly, without so much as a blink to betray her.

  Tristan shoved toast in his mouth, chewing furiously. His anger hadn’t ruined his appetite, at least. “You don’t trust me.”

  “No,” Stella said honestly. “I absolutely do not.”

  She’d forgotten how bad the traffic was in the mornings, what idiots the other parents were. Tristan gave her the silent treatment during the entire drive. Stella didn’t try to get him to talk. She counted the minutes and estimated how long it would take her to get to the airport, what flights she’d be missing. If she should bother going at all. It was on the tip of her tongue to turn to her son and tell him it was fine, she’d change her plans, that he could stay home this weekend instead of having to spend it at his father’s. But it had been two months since she’d flown, and she really wanted to go.

  Stella was desperate to fly.

  “I’ll be home Sunday night,” she called after him as Tristan got out of the car, ignoring her. “I can pick you up—”

  “I’ll have Dad drop me off,” he said over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you to bother.”

  He slammed the door behind him and stalked off, and Stella became one of those annoying mothers who waited to watch until their kid got inside the building before pulling away.

  Of course, she missed the flight to Atlanta she’d planned to take. The others were too far—one to Houston, one to Denver. Her weekend policy had always been to not do anything with a layover because it made it that much harder for her to be sure she could get home on time. There was a flight she could just barely make, if she was lucky—and leaving from Harrisburg almost always meant she was lucky, since it was such a small airport.

  Chicago.

  It wasn’t that she hadn’t been to Chicago before. Of course she had, several times. But all Stella could really remember was the last time, when she’d met Matthew and told him not only her real name, but the secret she never told anyone. All she could really remember was Matthew.

  There was almost no chance she’d see him there again, obviously. And though she could remember every detail of his apartment, she did not remember the address. She didn’t know his last name. And even if she did, she wouldn’t have looked him up in the phone book, much less showed up at his apartment. It had been, what, two months since she’d fucked him? He might not even remembe
r who she was...though something told her that he would.

  Chicago it was, though, unless she didn’t want to go anywhere at all. She made her way through security and checked her watch. Half an hour before boarding. Plenty of time for her to hit the restroom and make a few cosmetic changes.

  The woman in the mirror had wide brown eyes outlined in black liner. Full red lips. Glossy black hair in a short bob. The wig came off first, tucked into the special satin bag in her carry-on. She wiped her face with makeup towelettes, then pulled her cosmetics case from the bag and redid everything. When she’d finished, she checked over her outfit. Black wrap dress. Full cleavage. Stockings and garters beneath. Ankle-breaker pumps. The clothes would be fine, but her face and hair...those she wanted to be her own. She brushed out her hair to get rid of any tangles, then pulled it into a messy twist. Turning her face from side to side, Stella leaned on the sink.

  “He won’t be there,” she mouthed at herself. “And even if he does happen to be in the same airport, the chances of you meeting him are so fucking small.”

  The ride to Chicago was uneventful. The businessman who sat next to her would’ve been a decent prospect, on a different flight. She did flirt with him, though, letting him lean close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath. The few times his knee bumped hers, she didn’t pull away. She even let him get a number of long, leering looks down the front of her dress, and that was totally for her benefit. She liked watching a man’s eyes widen, then narrow. The leap of his pulse in his throat. She liked turning men on.

  But when they disembarked, he gave her no more than a second glance, pulling his briefcase from the overhead compartment and booking it out of the plane and down the corridor so far ahead of her it was almost comical. She’d have been insulted if she’d intended to seduce him. As it was, Stella took her time, allowing all the other passengers to get off the plane before she reached overhead for her bag. She thanked the crew, something most people didn’t bother to do and she remembered as one of the greatest annoyances of working as flight crew.

  In the airport, she went first to the Pegasus Airlines courtesy counter and had them check the available flights leaving on Sunday, making sure they put her down for the first available. Then she hit the restroom to freshen up. And after that, she went to the bar. She turned heads as she took a seat, and though she noticed, pretended she didn’t. It was the same bar as before, the one with the wagon wheels.