Page 10

“I’m surprised you don’t have a private jet,” I say to Cassian as I watch our plane arrive at the gate.

“I’ve thought about buying one,” the vampire answers casually. “But they require so much maintenance.”

“Plus, Cassian doesn’t care for flying,” Noah says.

“I don’t dislike flying—I’m just not a fan of airplanes.” Cassian turns to face us. “I had such high hopes for airships. I crossed the Atlantic on the Hindenburg, you know.”

“How is that possible?” I ask. “Didn’t it catch on fire?”

“Yes, but it made the trip several times before that. Though that incident did tarnish the public’s opinion of airships.”

“No kidding.”

A nearby man glances over, frowning. But he continues toward the coffee stand, probably thinking he misunderstood us, not realizing he just encountered a two-hundred-year-old vampire.

I frown at Cassian, realizing he added a jacket and tie to the white shirt and gray trousers he was wearing earlier. “Why do you look like you’re headed to a business meeting?”

“I find the flight attendants fuss over me a bit more if I look dapper.” He adjusts his tie and gives me a charming smirk.

“They’re going to fuss over you no matter what, seeing as how you booked yourself a ticket in first class,” Noah says, taking a sip of the iced coffee he secured as soon as we arrived.

He drinks it black—like a psychopath. He even seems to like it that way. I wrinkle my nose at it, missing sugar. Missing it so much.

“Why are you glaring at me?” Noah asks when he catches me, laughing.

“I’m not glaring at you—I’m glaring at your coffee.”

“I offered to get you one,” he points out.

I sigh, glancing at my phone to see how much longer we have to wait. “If it doesn’t taste like tiramisu, what’s the point?”

“You can still have cream in it,” Cassian says.

“It’s the sugar she’s missing,” Noah answers, giving me a knowing look.

I nod, feeling testy.

“There are plenty of artificial sweeteners and flavorings you can mix in,” Cassian says. “The 80s and 90s brought us a glorious cornucopia of packaged food options that contain no actual food.”

“That stuff will kill you.”

“Perhaps, but it won’t kill you .”

“That’s beside the point. It doesn’t taste the same.”

Cassian shrugs, not realizing what he’s missing. Lucky man.

“Oh, look,” he says, changing the subject. “Your flight is boarding.”

“Our flight?” I ask. “Aren’t you taking the same plane?”

“I’m afraid Noah booked you a budget airline with no first-class seating.”

“We’re not all billionaires,” Noah reminds the vampire.

Cassian gives us, his peasant friends, a pitying smile. “Don’t forget to transfer your blood to the mini fridge as soon as you get to your hotel room, Piper.” He looks at Noah. “You did remember to book her a room with a fridge, didn’t you?”

“I booked over the phone, and I asked the woman twice,” Noah answers, looking slightly put out that Cassian would think he might forget.

“Enjoy your flight then.” The vampire wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives me a friendly half-hug. Then he looks down at me, frowning. “Why is your heart racing? Are you suddenly attracted to me? Are we in a love triangle? We’ll have to be careful to hide it from Noah.”

Noah rolls his eyes. “She’s scared of flying.”

“How did you know that?” I ask, thinking I’d been hiding it pretty well.

He nods toward my hand and the napkin that came with his coffee, which I’ve twisted into a tight roll.

“Just a guess,” he jokes.

Cassian releases me. “Have no fear—planes rarely crash.”

“Thanks a lot.”

His eyes suddenly brighten. “If you’re worried about it, you could stay home.”

“Cassian,” I warn.

“I’m just saying that if you’re that nervous, you could remain here—safe and sound, on the ground.”

“Did you mean for that to rhyme?”

“It wasn’t intentional, no.”

“I’m going.”

“Understood.” He cocks his head to the side, smiling. “But you don’t have to.”

Noah narrows his eyes at his friend, questioning his bizarre behavior. “What’s with you?”

“I just want her to know she has options.”

“She’s going,” Noah says, putting a stop to the conversation. “We’ll see you in Florida.”

My boyfriend nudges me forward, and we join the other waiting passengers. I adjust my carry-on, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, hoping Noah got us good seats. Though I have no idea which seats those might be.

“It really will be okay.” Noah wraps his arm around me like Cassian just did, except… differently. He tucks me closer to his side, offering me warm reassurance. I breathe in the familiar scent of deodorant and laundry detergent that clings to his T-shirt.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, answering on autopilot.

Like kindergarteners, we board the plane in a single line. I almost pause when I step inside, moving only because the people behind us will grumble if I stop.

Planes look so big on the outside; I forgot how tight they are . There are three seats on either side, with a central aisle between them.

“Here we are,” Noah says when we’ve reached the middle of the plane. “Do you want the window?”

I have to decide quickly, as there’s an entire line of people behind me, but I decide I’d rather sit there than by a stranger. So I scoot in, taking my place. Noah puts our carry-ons in the overhead compartment, and I stash my purse under the seat in front of me.

As soon as we’re settled, Noah takes my hand, interlacing our fingers and giving me a reassuring smile. “So far, so good.”

“We haven’t left the ground yet.”

“But you’re on the plane.”

“Such an accomplishment.” I buckle my seatbelt and pull down the window shade. I might look out later, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to watch the airport lights get smaller as we leave the ground.

Soon after the steady stream of people becomes a trickle, all the passengers find their places. A flight attendant stands at the front of the plane and goes over the list, just like the last time I flew.

But I forgot how loud the engines are. The angry rumble sets me on edge before we even start down the runway.

Noah squeezes my hand as the plane picks up speed, and I clench my eyes shut, reminding myself that air travel is the safest mode of transportation, statistically speaking.

My stomach drops as the plane leaves the ground, making me glad I didn’t order coffee.

Eventually, everything evens out. We’re no longer rising and turning, and my stomach settles.

“You did great,” Noah says.

I take a deep breath. “That was…an experience.”

“My family traveled to Pennsylvania every year to visit my aunt before she moved to Glenwood, so my sister and I got used to plane travel early.”

“I’m sure it helps. When I have kids, I’ll make sure to—” I cut myself off, realizing that hazy future I’ve always imagined is no longer possible.

It’s just another regret that tinges my new life.

“I know,” Noah says gently. “It’s okay to grieve things that can no longer be. It’s part of the adjustment period.”

But there are so many adjustments—so many little losses that add up to a lot.

“I’m going to try to read for a little bit,” I tell him. “You can listen to your audiobook if you want.”

He nods and pulls his earbuds from his pocket.

The rest of the flight is uneventful, with little turbulence. Noah and I both order diet sodas when the flight attendant comes around, and I’m grateful for the carbonation even if the taste is going to take some getting used to.

We pass on the pretzels, and I try not to dwell on the other passengers crunching on them around us. My vampire hearing isn’t superhero level, like the movies would have you think, but it’s certainly heightened. That’s going to take some getting used to as well.

Just over four hours later, the pilot announces that we’re preparing to land. I slide open the window shade and look at the lights in the distance, only to quickly realize there are none under us.

“Are we over the ocean?” I ask, startled.

“We are,” Noah says.

I draw in a shaky breath, wishing I had stayed unaware of that.

“It’s almost over,” Noah says reassuringly, taking my hand in his big, warm one.

And he’s right. Twenty minutes later, we’re on the ground. The landing is a bit rough, with a jarring jolt as the wheels touch down, but I don’t even care because it means we’re done.

It takes another twenty minutes to disembark the plane and thirty to grab our luggage and find the covered pickup area. When we walk through the doors, I nearly gasp.

It’s hot, and it’s humid.

“How is it still this warm?” I ask Noah. “Shouldn’t it cool off at night?”

“Florida is like that in the summer.”

I fan my face, but it doesn’t help.

The pickup area is quiet, and we spot our driver right away. The local NIHA office said they’d send someone to meet us, but it’s almost one in the morning, and Noah didn’t want to keep anyone up that late. Thankfully, our hotel has a shuttle service.

“Noah and Piper?” a man in a white SUV greets us. He wears a shirt with the hotel logo on it and smiles jauntily, like it’s noon and not the middle of the night.

“That’s us.” Noah takes my suitcase, nodding for me to get in, and then helps the man put our luggage in the back before joining me.

“Welcome to Florida,” the driver says when he slides into his seat. “Where are you all from?”

He and Noah chat as we drive. I watch the lights out the window, wishing it was daytime so I could see more of the city.

By the time we arrive at our Miami Beach hotel, it’s after two in the morning. There are large palm trees out front, and lights shine up on the exterior, highlighting its modern design. It looks fancy—certainly the fanciest hotel I’ve ever been to.

“Can you afford this?” I ask Noah as we roll our suitcases inside the air-conditioned foyer.

“My new position came with a raise,” he says cryptically, making me wonder how much he’s making now. We’ve never talked about it—it seems rude to ask, even if we’re dating.

“Maybe we should have gotten one room,” I say. “Saved some money.”

“I know that’s the reason I contemplated getting one room.”

I grin, laughing under my breath.

“But I couldn’t even if we wanted to,” he says. “Your dad called last night and gave me a stern lecture.”

I pause, gaping at him. “Are you serious? He called you after I told them about the trip?”

“He did.”

“How did he get your phone number?”

“I gave it to him.”

I roll my eyes and walk to the entry doors. “That’s on you then.”

My parents are too involved in our relationship, and Noah is too eager to please them.

“Next time, we won’t tell them we’re leaving,” he jokes.

“You’re already planning another trip?” I ask, happy to indulge in the flippant conversation.

“We could both use a real vacation,” he answers. “One not for work.”

“Where would we go?”

Noah makes a thoughtful noise. “How about somewhere cooler?”

“Yes, please. This heat is almost unbearable. I feel like I’m about to spontaneously combust.”

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but eventually, you’ll acclimate.”

Dr. Martin said the same thing. He explained that by next summer, I won’t notice the heat as much. “Much” being the keyword. I suspect Florida is always going to feel like a steam room.

I sigh as we step through the doors and into the blessed air-conditioning. The lobby is huge—there are even full-sized palm trees inside. The ceiling is glass, dark now that it’s the middle of the night. I imagine it’s nice and bright in the daytime.

Or rather, bright and dangerous. I guess it’s a good thing we arrived now.

“Maybe Washington or Oregon,” Noah says, still thinking about our next trip.

“Why there?” I ask as we walk across the massive space to the check-in counters.

“The beaches are cold.” He smiles to himself. “And I’ve heard vampires like the Pacific Northwest.”

“You had to go there, didn’t you?”

“Let’s stay for at least a week when we go,” he adds.

“I’m not much of a hiker. I’m not sure what we’d do for that long.”

He smirks. “I don’t intend on leaving the hotel room, and I assure you I can keep you entertained.”

“ Ah .” I smile. “I know what this is—a K-drama getaway.”

“Naturally.” He grins. “What else could it be?”

What else, indeed.

Of course, we both know it won’t happen. There’s no way Noah and I could share a hotel room and behave ourselves. It’s hard enough living in the same house, but at least at home, there are boundaries. Noah has a room; I have a room. For the most part, we stay in those rooms.

But a hotel? Forget about it. I’d be nibbling his neck before you could say “room service.”

A fleeting thought drifts into my head, as fleeting thoughts like to do. What if it’s a honeymoon?

There I go again. Though technically, Noah’s the one who keeps putting these ideas in my head. If I looked up candlelit, garden-themed wedding receptions on Pinterest last night, it’s his fault. (I did, by the way.)

I slide my gaze to Noah, imagining him in a tux.

A flush travels over my skin, and my stomach flutters.

But like a responsible vampire, I push thoughts of honeymoons and shared rooms out of my head and focus on this trip—this trip where we have two rooms, and we’ll keep our hands and fangs to ourselves.

“Welcome,” the receptionist says, her voice loud in the hushed quiet of the still lobby. “Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” Noah says. “Two rooms, booked under Montgomery York.”

As she types in his info, her smile gradually dims. “Two rooms?”

“That’s right.”

She nods, frowning at the screen.

The seconds turn into minutes, and the click, click, click of her keyboard begins to feel ominous.

“I’m so sorry. It appears there’s been a slight mix-up.” Finally, she reluctantly pulls her eyes from her screen. “I only have one room available.”