Page 52 of Making It Burn

“Of course.Yes.Sit.”

He sat, leaving exactly one empty seat between us.Professional distance, apparently, even at the airport.

We sat in silence, both staring at the departure board like it might spontaneously combust.

“So,” Beau said finally.“Ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.You?”

“Same.”He pulled out his phone, scrolled through something, then put it away.“Carter sent the final agenda this morning.Looks like we’re starting at nine tomorrow with the executive team.”

“I saw that.I prepared briefing notes on the regulatory compliance sections.If you want, I can send them to you.”

“That would be great.I finished the medical technology provisions breakdown.I’ll forward it.”

This was excruciating.We sounded like robots.Professional, polite robots who definitely hadn’t had their tongues in each other’s mouths less than a week ago.

“Good,” I said.

“Great,” he said.

More silence.

The gate agent’s voice crackled over the speaker: “We’ll now begin boarding United flight 1447 with service to New Orleans.We’d like to welcome our first-class passengers and anyone needing extra time.”

“That’s us,” I said, standing.

“Right.”Beau grabbed his bag and followed me to the line.

We handed over our boarding passes, walked down the jetway, and found our seats.12A and 12B.

I stowed my bag in the overhead compartment and slid into the window seat.Beau took the middle, his long legs immediately bumping against mine in the limited space.

“Sorry,” he muttered, angling his knees away.

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine.Nothing about this was fine.

The plane filled up around us—business travelers, families, college students.A flight attendant appeared in the aisle, and I did a double-take.

He was probably in his late twenties, with perfectly styled dark hair, a smile that could sell toothpaste, and an energy that immediately filled the surrounding space.

“Well, hello there,” he said, his eyes landing on Beau with obvious appreciation.“Welcome aboard.Can I help you with anything?Your bag?Your seatbelt?Better yet, your phone number?”

Beau laughed—actually laughed—and I felt something hot and uncomfortable twist in my chest.

“I think I’ve got it covered, thanks,” Beau said.

“Shame.”The flight attendant—his name tag read “Derek”—leaned against the seat in front of us.“Let me know if you change your mind.Or if you need anything during the flight.Anything at all.”He winked.“I’m very attentive.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Derek’s gaze slid to me, and his smile dimmed slightly.“And you, sir?Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine.”My voice came out clipped.

“Alright then.Buckle up, boys.We’ll be taking off soon.”Derek moved down the aisle, but not before throwing one more appreciative glance at Beau.