Page 117 of Six Month Wife

“So, we’re a team now?”

His mouth lifts at the corner. “We have been from the beginning. I mean, there's no denying that, even with all of the shit that's come our way. We always came together when we had to.”

I nod, trying to ignore the part of me that aches a little at what he's saying. Team. I want it to mean more than logistics and contracts. I want it to mean him and me.

Real.

Not transactional, not temporary.

His hand finds mine on his leg and squeezes it. My thumb gently rubs his. We don’t say anything else. We don’t need to.

“I don’t care about the inheritance,” Parker says out of the blue. “I don’t care if we get a dime. I care about you. I want to be with you, Adair. For real. No games. No contract marriages.”

The sincerity in his eyes is undeniable, and it sends a warmth through me I haven’t felt in years. This isn’t thesmooth, sarcastic Parker I first met. This is a man laying his heart on the line.

For me.

I swallow hard, my walls crumbling under the weight of his words. “I want that too,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

A slow smile spreads across his face, one that makes my heart ache in the best way. “You mean it? You want to be my real girlfriend?”

I nod, unable to hold back a small smile of my own. “I do.”

He reaches across the console, taking my hand in his. His touch is warm, grounding, and I squeeze his fingers lightly.

For the first time, the uncertainty I’ve been carrying feels lighter. Whatever happens in Vermont, whatever happens with the inheritance—it doesn’t matter.

Because this, right here, is real.

We board in silence,still buzzing from the conversation in the car. I meant what I said—I want to be with him. And judging by the way his hand brushes mine every chance he gets, he’s not taking that lightly.

Security. Gate. Boarding. All of it blurs.

First class is mostly empty. Quiet. Dim lights. A red-eye flight to Vermont with chilled wine, warm towels, and the perfect amount of space between passengers to forget they exist.

We get our seats—two wide, leather recliners side by side. A flight attendant offers sparkling water or champagne. Parker asks for both.

“Celebrating something?” she asks with a polite smile.

He glances at me. “Hopefully.”

I shoot him a warning look, but the corner of my mouth twitches.

The cabin door closes. The hum of the engine grows. We buckle in. Phones go into airplane mode. And then the familiar rumble of the runway builds beneath us. I clench the armrest.

He doesn’t say anything, he simply covers my hand with his.

We take off.

It’s smooth. Easy. Like everything about this flight is conspiring to lower my guard.

Half an hour later, the cabin dims further. Most of the other passengers have reclined their seats. Headphones on. Eyes closed. The lull of altitude settles over the plane like a warm drug.

We have one of those blue fleece blankets over our laps. I was chilly earlier, so we shared one. Now I’m burning up.

He leans closer, voice low. “You okay?”

I nod, but my breath’s already dropped somewhere lower—because his hand is on my thigh.