Page 5 of The Pilot’s Good Girl (Praise Me Like Fire #3)

Ruby

I can’t believe I kissed a man I barely know…and now I’m heading to dinner with him.

Correction: I’m riding shotgun in the truck of the most rugged, insanely hot man I’ve ever seen, after pressing my lips to his like I’ve known him all my life. And the craziest part?

I’m loving every single second of it.

There’s something so easy about the way he talks, the way he makes space for me without even trying.

I’m not used to that. Or the zapping, bone-deep pull I feel whenever he so much as glances my way.

I want to tell myself this is just some wild detour, that tomorrow I’ll be back to normal… but right now?

I don’t want to wake up from this dream.

I steal a glance at him as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh.

His profile is straight out of a movie—square jaw dusted with stubble, high cheekbones that look carved from granite, a nose that’s just slightly crooked like it’s been broken before, and that mouth…

God. That mouth. I know exactly what it feels like against mine now, and I’m already kind of addicted.

His eyes flick to mine. I freeze mid-stare, caught like a deer in headlights.

“Take a picture,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It’ll last longer.”

I roll my eyes, though my cheeks are on fire. “Maybe I will. Can’t let all this Top Gun cowboy pilot hotness go undocumented.”

He laughs, the sound deep and warm. “You think I’m a cowboy pilot?”

“You fly a helicopter, wear a uniform, and are kind of mysterious. Yeah, that’s textbook cowboy pilot.”

He gives me a sideways look, amused. “You have me all figured out, huh?”

I smile but don’t answer. Instead, I glance down at myself, suddenly self-conscious in my jean skirt and mostly dry tank top. “Are we going somewhere fancy? Because, full disclosure, this is not my dinner date best.”

Jake glances over again, eyes dipping briefly down my body in a way that sends a shiver shooting up my spine. “Nothing fancy,” he says, his voice dropping an octave lower. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

And just like that, my insides melt.

A few minutes later, he turns off the main road and pulls up in front of a diner with a warm red sign that reads “Milly’s Table.” The windows glow golden from the inside, like something out of a Hallmark movie. It looks like a place where the pies are homemade and the waitresses call you honey.

Inside, it’s even cozier. Wood paneling, checkered curtains, and the smell of fried food and cinnamon in the air. Heads turn as we walk in, and more than a few people greet Jake by name.

“Hey there, Pearson!”

“Back from the skies already?”

Jake nods and waves, then gently guides me to a booth in the back corner, his hand lightly resting on the small of my back. It’s casual. But my skin remembers it.

“I’ve been coming here since I was a teenager,” he says as we sit. “This place has the best chicken pot pie in the state. And I’m not just saying that because Milly once threatened to stop feeding me if I didn’t.”

As if summoned by name, a petite, silver-haired woman with sparkling blue eyes appears at our table. She has the kind of beauty that doesn’t fade—laugh lines, a warm smile, and the confidence of a woman who’s seen a lot and still loves what she sees.

“Well, well, well,” she says, her eyes bouncing between Jake and me. “Look who finally brought a girl to Milly’s. I was starting to think you were married to that helicopter.”

Jake leans back and grins. “Just trying to keep my standards high, Milly.”

Milly winks at me. “You must be real special then, honey.”

My cheeks flush. It’s not just the compliment, it’s the look in Jake’s eyes when she says it. Like he agrees.

They chat for a moment, easy banter back and forth, and then Milly takes our order. Chicken pot pie for him, grilled cheese and tomato soup for me. Milly promises to be back soon and walks away with a knowing smile.

Jake leans forward, forearms resting on the table. The warmth in his expression intensifies. And just like that, the air between us shifts.

“This place is lovely,” I say, trying to sound casual.

But he’s not smiling anymore. Not exactly. His eyes are dark, thoughtful, lingering on me like he’s trying to memorize something.

“It is,” he says softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Very lovely…” He lets his voice trail off, but there’s no mistaking the heat in his eyes.

And just like that, my pulse starts to race.

Our food arrives on two steaming plates, and Jake was right. The chicken pot pie smells like heaven. My grilled cheese is golden perfection with gooey cheddar melting off the sides, and the tomato soup is the kind that makes you want to curl up in a window seat with a good book.

But as delicious as everything looks, I can tell Jake isn’t really paying attention to the food. His eyes remain on me all night, feasting boldly. Unapologetically.

It’s almost like he’s trying to see beneath my skin. Like he wants to memorize every expression I make, every word I say. It’s intense. And strangely…addictive.

I should be nervous. A little cautious, at least. I barely know this man.

But instead, a low thrum is building inside me, an overwhelming desire pulsing through my veins like a current I never knew existed. I’ve never been looked at like this. Like I’m a secret someone’s waited their whole life to find.

I take another bite, pretending not to notice. “You gonna eat that?” I nod toward his pie.

He blinks, caught in the act. A slow grin tugs at his mouth. “Trying. But I keep getting distracted.”

“Distracted, huh?” I lift a brow. “By what?”

Jake leans forward slightly, lowering his voice. “You, sunshine.”

My breath hitches, just slightly.

He doesn’t even flinch as he says it, doesn’t try to soften the heat in his eyes. He just watches me like I’m the only thing worth noticing in this whole diner.

I sit back, trying to cool the ridiculous flush crawling up my neck. “Is that a line, or are you just a natural flatterer?”

“Not a line,” he says. “And I don’t flatter.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “Well, line or not, this is the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”

He grins wider, clearly amused.

“And to think, I only came into town looking for a snow globe.”

Jake looks at me in surprise. “A snow globe?”

“Yup. I collect them.” I shrug, twirling my spoon in the soup. “It’s kind of ridiculous. But everywhere I go, I try to find one that really fits the place.”

“That’s not ridiculous. It’s kind of adorable.”

“Adorable?” I repeat, wrinkling my nose. “That’s dangerous talk, pilot.”

“Just calling it like I see it.” He finally takes a bite, chewing slowly, still watching me over the rim of his fork.

I glance down at my bowl, my lips twitching. “I guess I’ve always liked the idea of holding a little world in your hands. Something perfect and small, all contained. Even when everything else feels messy.”

His smile fades just slightly, like he’s sensing there’s more under the surface. “You’ve had some messy?”

I nod, eyes on my soup now. My voice drops, quieter. “Yeah. A lot.”

Jake doesn’t interrupt. He waits patiently, giving me the chance to either spill my guts or remain silent. For some reason, I want to talk to him. I’ve never felt so safe with anyone else, but I wonder if he’ll look at me the same after…

I sigh, leaning back against the booth. “My sister…she died two years ago in a car crash. I was driving.”

His fork stills midair. He sets it down gently, giving me his full attention.

“We were coming home from a concert. I was tired, but she didn’t want to stay the night. She said she had to be back home for something—can’t even remember what now. So I drove. It was raining. I—I misjudged a bend and we hit the guardrail.”

Jake’s expression is unreadable now, but his eyes stay locked on mine.

“She died on impact. I came out with a few broken bones and a whole life of guilt.” I give a hollow laugh. “My parents never said it was my fault. Not exactly. But they didn’t have to. Everything changed after that. My mom barely looks at me. My dad’s just…quiet. Distant. We used to be close.”

Jake doesn’t speak right away. He just reaches across the table, wrapping his large, warm hand over mine.

“You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to,” he says gently.

But now that the words are spilling, I can’t stop them.

“I came here to get away. Camp work was just an excuse. Places like this, close to nature, they’re good places to start over. I thought maybe if I could breathe new air, I’d feel less like a ghost.”

Jake squeezes my hand, grounding me.

“You’re not a ghost, Ruby,” he says. “You’re real. You’re here. And anyone who can smile the way you do and make grilled cheese look like a goddamn art form deserves to feel that.”

My throat thickens. I blink hard.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He nods, thumb brushing across the back of my hand. “For what it’s worth…I know what it’s like to lose someone and not know how to stop blaming yourself.”

Our eyes meet, and the connection between us tightens into something fierce and unspoken.

I’ve only just met this man, and somehow he sees me clearer than people who’ve known me all my life.

Jake holds my gaze for a long moment, and for once, the silence between us doesn’t feel heavy. It feels warm. Like something sacred has passed between us, quietly anchoring us to one another.

Then, just when the weight of it starts to settle too deep in my chest, he shifts and picks up his fork again.

“Alright,” he says with a glint in his eyes, “enough of the heavy stuff. Let’s talk about something less likely to make me want to kiss you senseless out of sheer emotional overwhelm.”

My mouth falls open in a laugh, caught somewhere between scandalized and swoony. “That’s oddly specific.”

He shrugs one shoulder, his smirk doing dangerous things to my ability to stay seated. “Just calling it like it is.”

I shake my head, smiling. “You’re something else, you know that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he slices a perfect bite of pie and leans forward, holding the fork toward me.

“Try this.”

I arch a brow. “You’re seriously trying to feed me right now?”

“Sunshine,” he drawls, “I’m a man who can handle heavy machinery in wildfires. I think I can manage a fork. Open up.”

The absurdity of it makes me laugh again, but I lean forward anyway and take the bite. My lips close around the fork and… holy crap.

“Oh my god,” I murmur around the mouthful. “That’s insane.”

“Right?” he says proudly. “Milly’s secret ingredient is nutmeg. Just enough to make your tastebuds ask questions.”

“Are you trying to seduce me with food now?”

“I don’t need to,” he says smugly, “but I figure every little bit helps.”

He scoops another bite, but I snatch the fork from him and load it up with my grilled cheese.

“Your turn, hero. Let’s see if you can handle some gooey perfection.”

Jake lets me feed him, letting out an exaggerated moan as the cheese stretches from the sandwich to his lips. “Damn,” he says through a smile. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I never joke about cheese,” I say solemnly.

Our laughter mixes with the soft clinks and chatter of the diner. Everything feels lighter. Warmer. Like we’ve stepped into our own little snow globe world, one where things like grief and guilt don’t hang over us like thunderclouds.

“You’re cute when you laugh,” he says suddenly.

I glance at him, cheeks heating. “You’re a menace when you flirt.”

“You like it.”

“…Maybe.”

Jake leans back in the booth, stretching one arm across the top of the seat. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“You mean because I collect snow globes and eat like a five-year-old?”

“I mean because you’re fire and softness rolled into one, and I can’t decide if I want to tease you, kiss you, or wrap you in a blanket and never let you go.”

Oh.

I can’t think of anything to say to that, mostly because my brain just exploded.

I blink at him, unsure whether to laugh or swoon. “Do you say that to all the women you feed pot pie to?”

Jake chuckles low. “I can honestly say I’ve never fed pot pie to any other woman. You heard Milly—you’re special.”

The warmth that pools in my chest isn’t just from the food. It’s something deeper. Warmer.

He brushes a crumb from the corner of my mouth and doesn’t pull his hand away right away. His thumb lingers against my cheek for a second longer than it needs to.

“You’re having fun?” he asks, voice low.

I nod, my heart thudding. “So much fun.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “I’m not done with you yet.”

And just like that, my pulse starts racing again.