Page 29 of Winging It with You
Asher
Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” the sweeter-than-sugar flight attendant says when she realizes I’m struggling to recline my seat. “That one’s broken.”
Of course it is.
Theo offers to switch, but I shrug him off, an exhaustion that’s been building over the last few weeks finally setting in.
This is our life now. Time marked by takeoffs and landings with Theo and I sluggishly moving along until we hope to find an hour or two of sleep in the comfort of an airline seat.
A broken one.
He puts his hand on my thigh at the same time that I rest my head against his shoulder. I have to admit that it feels nice not to question it anymore. We’ve settled into some nonverbal agreement that we’re just doing what feels comfortable at this point.
I’ve also stopped asking where we’re going. Not that Jo or Arthur seem inclined to tell us anyway, given that they seem to find immense enjoyment in seeing the shock, confusion, or whatever other emotion must ripple across my face when we reach our destination.
Over the last few weeks, Theo and I have logged an ungodly number of hours cramped together on every mode of transportation known to man.
Every once in a while, Arthur will swing by with a camera practically in our faces, capturing a few moments of our travels, but for the most part, this time sitting side by side is just for us.
It’s one of the rare occasions where we can just exhale and find solace in the downtime.
And in each other.
Theo, without even trying, has become my safest of spaces. A much-needed breath of fresh air amid all the chaos—the hand I instinctively reach for now. He’s the person I’ve placed every ounce of my trust in.
Which feels incredibly odd and unnatural considering how recently we met.
We’ve gone from skeptical strangers to inseparable lunatics in a matter of weeks, and the breakneck speed of it all is enough to give anyone whiplash.
I’ve never allowed myself to get swept up this quickly with anyone before. But it’s different with Theo.
The thought causes me to sneak a glance at him.
His face is relaxed as he leans against the airplane’s wall.
I’ve never met anyone who can succumb to sleep as quickly and deeply as Theo can.
I’m both envious and in awe. His skin is sun-kissed and he’s probably a week or so overdue for a haircut.
We both are. His dark stubble is almost a beard at this point, not that you’ll hear me complain about it.
The burn against my skin literally makes my mouth water.
He’s quite lovely, in every sense of the word.
There’s a softness to his current expression that reminds me of early Sunday mornings.
He smiled when I told him that after a night of drinking with Jo, Arthur, and some of the other crew.
A soft smile at first that spread little by little across his whole face.
But what I’ve come to admire most about Theo Fernandez is his overall sense of goodness.
This man has a heart of actual gold. Not in the way people casually throw around when describing someone who is generally kind or giving.
No. I’m convinced that beneath that impressive chest of his lies an eighth wonder of the world—a heart so pure and genuine and good .
One that gives so much and expects very little, if anything, in return.
If I’m being honest, it’s a little overwhelming to think about, since I’m the one constantly on the receiving end of his sunny disposition. That I’m somehow and suddenly worthy of a heart like that.
He squeezes my thigh gently, as if in his sleep he’s noticed my absence from his side. Reclaiming my spot on Theo’s strong shoulder, my tired eyes beg for rest. The memories of the last few weeks flutter through every corner of my subconscious.
We were dropped at different entrances to the world’s largest maze in Denmark with nothing more than a flashlight and a pair of binoculars.
For being fairly competent adults, Theo and I were quickly lost in the labyrinth of trees and shrubs that went on for miles and miles.
I don’t know how we finally managed to find our way out, but I’m fairly confident that neither of us want to ever experience something like that again.
Or talk about it.
No one was eliminated after that challenge, shocking everyone again.
We herded llamas in Peru, working in tandem to successfully get all the incredibly cute but exceptionally stubborn mammals from one corral to another.
I’m pretty sure Theo whispered to at least nine of the llamas that he’d adopt them—a promise I have a feeling he’d make good on in a second if he were allowed to.
Jenn and Ellie faced elimination after they struggled to get their own llamas to cooperate.
Luckily, they were saved and Dallas and Cameron were sent home instead.
From there, we traveled to Toronto, stopping by one of the most breathtaking libraries I’ve ever seen, where we worked to reshelve dozens of books.
The catch? We had to use a very old, very complicated wooden decoding device to decipher the library’s organizational system.
Everyone but Jenn and Ellie, who miraculously cracked the code within moments, struggled with this challenge, and I’m pretty sure Theo had to stop me from throwing our decoding device across the room on more than one occasion.
Thankfully, our viewers decided that #Thasher would live on for another challenge, resulting in the father-daughter pair from Washington to be sent packing.
And somehow, amid the televised conundrums, Theo and I appeared to reach some semblance of an understanding.
Of the competition and each other.
Each stop along the way brings us closer. In the darkness of yet another hotel room or cramped against each other on another endless flight, I feel we’ve both quietly envisioned just what this could be.
/////////////
“Wake up.” Theo’s voice is but a whisper in my ear.
I don’t remember when I finally fell asleep, but I needed every second of it. My body is stiff and I’m fairly positive I’m going to have permanent fabric lines from Theo’s pullover etched into my face.
“Ash, come on. You have to see this,” he says, nudging me with his thigh.
I nuzzle into his neck in silent protest.
“Please,” he breathes, his lips lingering on my skin. Okay, now I’m awake.
“I’m up, I’m up,” I groan, pretending that seeing his signature grin when I finally force my eyes open didn’t just completely punch me straight in the gut.
He shakes his head at my theatrics but turns toward our window and slides its shade up, leaning back so I have an unobstructed view.
“Theo, it’s…” My voice trails off because I quickly realize I don’t have the words to describe the picturesque beauty before me.
We are weaving in and out of a sea of endless clouds. Miles and miles of velvet softness painted in the amber morning light surround us. Their subtle shifts in the wind allow sun streams to make a divine but fleeting appearance.
It’s like we’ve woken up within a painting. Our very own billowing fresco stretching from every corner of the horizon.
“Every time I step into a cockpit, this is the moment I look for,” he says, and my heart melts at the fact that he wanted to share it with me.
“My mom shared a quote from Leonardo da Vinci, or one of those interchangeable old guys everyone is always quoting, with me when I was younger. Back when I wouldn’t stop talking about being a pilot and always had my head in the clouds…
Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.
” He reaches over and takes my hand in his. “Or something like that.”
I’m speechless. At the beauty we’ve found ourselves amid. At the borrowed words that clearly mean something to him.
At this man who feels more and more like the rays of sunshine peering through the clouds surrounding us every time he opens his mouth.
“So, you always wanted to be a pilot, then?” I ask when I finally find my voice again. I trail my fingertips over his knuckles as Theo leans in to me, his head now resting on mine.
“I did. My family used to go to the air show that would come to town every summer. They are some of my earliest memories,” he says, his voice growing quieter.
Most of our conversations have been centered around the competition or one of us complaining how tired we are, so it feels like a treat getting little glimpses into Theo’s real life.
“I loved everything about it. The thunderous noise the jets made as they flew overhead, their impossible maneuvers, the way everyone would sprint to meet the pilots as soon as they landed—I was hooked.”
Picturing a young and enamored Theo causes my heart to constrict. “And the Navy? Was that always part of the pilot plan too?”
“Not at all. That chapter of my life was definitely unexpected.” I feel him shake his head against mine. “No, when I was younger and pictured my future life as a pilot, I was convinced I’d be flying NASA shuttles into space by the time I was sixteen.”
“I see you’ve always been realistic.”
“Obviously,” he murmurs, struggling to choke back his laugh.
Somewhere in the golden mesh of clouds, it’s the last sound I hear before drifting back to sleep.