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Stella

Chicago, Illinois

S tella stowed her bag in the overhead compartment and took her first-class seat. Beside her, a pot-bellied man in a suit was reading the news on his tablet.

He asked, “Business or pleasure?”

Stella smiled. “I’m on vacation.”

The truth was, after working her way across the country, she had walked into O’Hare, looked at the departure board, and picked the first city she saw.

“You’re vacationing in Tulsa?”

Stella revised her story. “Visiting family.” She pulled out her go-to man repellant, a tattered copy of a book on becoming a nun, and opened it to a random page.

When the book had done its job, and the man returned to his tablet, she closed her eyes with a weary sigh.

She conjured an image of Ren. Her favorite one in her memory portfolio was of him sitting shirtless on the deck, smiling at her over his laptop.

He’d toss those thick glasses on the keyboard and ruffle his hair.

“Excuse me, miss. Your bag needs to be under your seat.” The flight attendant pulled her from her daydream.

A familiar light flashed as Stella bent to stow her handbag.

She unlocked the phone and accessed the application.

Someone had reactivated Ren’s surveillance.

In her rush to clear Ren’s apartment, she must have missed a device.

God, he’d kill her if he thought she’d done it.

Stella tapped on the one active camera. Maybe some glitch had rebooted it.

It took a minute for her to realize what she was seeing. Ren had turned on the camera and aimed it at a note. He’d made another list.

Ten things I want to say to Stella:

1. I love you.

2. I love you.

3. I love you.

4. I love you.

5. I love you.

6. I love you.

7. I love you.

8. I love you.

9. I love you.

10. I love you.

No one had ever said that to her before or written it. He loved her? Ren loved Stella? She kept repeating random variations of the same thought until it sank in. She needed off this plane. Stella stood and grabbed her bag.

“Miss, we’re about to taxi. Please take your seat.”

Ren had always admired Stella’s street smarts. She was about to give him another example of why. She looked at the attendant, dropped her bag at her feet, and put her hands on her chest. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”