Page 26 of Fly with Me

“Da Vinci?” Olive said, tentatively.

“Yeah. It is.” A flicker of wonder passed across Stella’s face. “How did you—”

“I was an art history major in college. Before I was a nurse. I was pretty obsessed with Italian painters for a while.”

“Have you been to Italy?”

Olive swallowed. “No.”

“Why not? Your laptop in your backpack has stickers from all over the US, so I assumed you travel all the time.”

She noticed that?

“I’ve traveled all over the continental US. Just not… I’ve only ever flown once. I usually drive. I have a dog,” Olive ended feebly.

Stella’s eyes were the size of saucers. “Last night was your first flight? The flight down here?”

Olive grimaced. “Yup. I can’t decide if that means I’m a storm cloud and should never fly again.”

“You saved someone’s life. I’d say it’s good flight karma.”

“Meh, probably better for me to stay on the ground. Just in case.”

Stella poked her elbow and chuckled. “Wait, are you afraid of flying?”

“How much are you going to judge me if I say yes?” Olive shielded her face with a hand.

“You just said being up and taking lessons in a little plane sounds amazing. You know that commercial air travel is way safer than that, right? Incidentally, it’s much safer than driving too.”

“I might have had a temporary bout of insanity when I said that.” Olive watched out the window as the monorail curved on the track.

Nope. She was a lying liar McLiar pants because Stella was so fucking beautiful when she talked about flying, Olive couldn’t think straight.

“Okay…”

Olive turned back to face Stella, tightening her grip on the metal pole. “I know all the statistics about aviation. My brother worked to build airplanes. It was pretty much his mission in life to get me on one. My mom’s actually afraid of flying, so I guess it rubbed off on me. It’s weird.” It was the one thing Olive had inherited from her mother.

“But you never flew? Even when you were a kid?”

“Nope. Not until now.”

Stella lifted a finger up to Olive’s face. Olive’s immediate thought was that she had something on it, but no. Stella was brushing stray strands of hair away from her eyes. Her fingers were soft as they trailed along Olive’s jawline and down her neck.

Swear words and a barrage of OHMYGODs stormed through Olive’s brain. Every muscle locked down as if she worried a sudden movement would spook Stella away from touching her. This had to be flirting. Had to be.

As the monorail came to a stop, the crowd pushed around them, interrupting the moment. The stroller—that motherfucking stroller—slammed into Olive’s Achilles tendon, harder this time. Olive hopped on one foot for a second and then limped off the monorail.

“Are you okay?”

Stella was obviously trying to kill her because she reached down and touched Olive’s bare leg where the stroller had assaulted her. A shiver ran down Olive’s spine. “I’m fine.”

Straightening, Stella snatched her hand back as if Olive’s leg had burned her. “Margaritas.”

Was that a question?

“Margaritas,” Stella said again in a strangely clipped tone.

Olive lifted a conspiratorial eyebrow. “I like margaritas.”