Page 210 of The Fall

The taxi arrives too soon. Blair loads our bags while I take one last look at the villa.

The air still hums with yesterday’s laughter, echoes of our gasps and sighs are tangled in the hibiscus and the lapping waves. I close my hand around nothing, wanting to hold on, knowing I can’t. I can’t keep the sea salt or the sun, but what webuilt isn’t so fragile. Two weeks ago, we arrived brand new. Now, we leave unbreakable.

The trek home unfolds in stages: boat to mainland, car to airport, security line to gate. Blair holds my hand the entire time. Every few minutes, he lifts my knuckles to his lips like he can’t help himself.

The flight home feels like the final pages of a story I never want to end, and when the flight attendant’s voice crackles through the cabin speakers to announce our final descent into Tampa, I almost want to cry.

We’re still holding hands. Neither of us has gone more than five minutes without touching. My body has forgotten how to exist without his touch.

The plane banks, and through the window, Tampa Bay glitters below us. Blair leans closer, his voice dropping so only I can hear. “I’m not sure I can go back to pretending that I’m not in love with you.”

The cabin pressure changes around us. My ears pop. I turn my hand over in his, palm to palm, and squeeze.

“I know we agreed to keep this private,” he continues. “But these two weeks...” He shakes his head. “They changed things for me.”

“For me too.”

His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “I’m going to struggle.”

The plane dips lower. Tampa grows clearer through the window. Our city, our team, our life is waiting to reclaim us. “Maybe someday soon, we won’t have to hide.”

Blair’s fingers tighten in mine, and for a moment, it’s only him and me and the hush before touchdown. “You mean that?”

I squeeze his hand and don’t let go. “You’re not a secret I should keep hidden. You’re—” I pause, searching for the right words. “You’re everything.”

The plane banks again, and the coastline comes into full view.

“I want to do this right,” he says. “For you. For us.”

“We’ll figure out how to tell the team first. Then management.”

The captain announces our final approach. Blair squeezes my hand one more time. “We’ll figure it out,” he says. “Soon.”

“Soon.”

The plane touches down with a rubber-screech thud that jolts me back to earth. Passengers around us stir as phones chirp to life. Seatbelts snap open. The overhead bins clatter. I want to linger here, where no one knows what we are except us.

Blair brushes his thumb along my knuckles one last time before we stand.

We shuffle forward together. I catch his gaze in the reflection of a window before the jet bridge yawns open and Florida heat pours in. We step into it side by side. The rest of our lives waits beyond the gate.

In the terminal, we walk close enough that our shoulders brush. Our vacation bubble hasn’t popped, but it’s thinning as the world crowds back in, and the bustling airport is a shock after two weeks of empty beaches.

He collects his bag from the carousel first, then mine, and hefts them both over his shoulder. I want to kiss him by carousel four, taste whatever is left of our vacation on his lips and let everyone stare. Instead I follow him out to the garage.

He tosses my bag in his truck in long-term parking, then leans in, crowding me against his truck’s door. No one’s around; there’s nothing but rows of empty cars baking in the sun.

“Last chance,” he whispers, “for me to kiss you before we’re back in the real world.”

I grab his shirt, pulling him close, and our kiss turns hungry. When we break apart, I’m breathing hard. Blair rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“I don’t want to go back,” I say. Not to separate apartments, separate lives.

“I know.” His voice is rough. “I don’t want to drop you off at your place.”

“I could come back with you tonight?”

He takes my hand, and when he speaks, his words are careful, as if he’s been holding them inside since we landed. “You could come with me and stay.”