Page 34 of Winging It with You

Theo

Rome, Italy

Our flight to London has been delayed for another two hours.

Another two hours stuck at yet another airport.

Jo and Arthur are passed out a few rows ahead at our gate.

They’ve clearly become quite accomplished at finding sleep whenever and wherever.

Asher’s to my right, nose deep in a book.

Some medical jargon–laced nonfiction about the quest for the perfect prescription.

Or something like that.

His brow is furrowed. But there is a softness to his expression. As if somehow, despite the heavy subject matter, he’s maybe found a moment of relaxation just for him.

Guys with personalities like Asher’s have historically never liked me.

The ones who can talk about climate change or politics or the current state of their investment portfolios for hours on end. The ones who read memoirs. For fun.

I get it. I’m the one who doesn’t take life too seriously. The person you can always count on to tell the well-timed joke or laugh off any potential awkwardness. Some might even say I have golden retriever energy. I’m trying to figure out if that really is a compliment.

But maybe—

Maybe it doesn’t have to be that way.

Maybe with Asher, even though our situation is not completely real , I could at least be. I’m starting to think Jenn was onto something when she called me out about pretending. It’s exhausting.

He fidgets in his seat, stretching out his long legs in some small attempt to get comfortable, though I know from personal experience it’s impossible in these airport chairs.

“Theo?” an unfamiliar voice suddenly calls out from behind me. There could be a dozen Theos in this airport, so I ignore it, considering everyone I know is right here and frankly, I don’t have the energy to care.

“Theo Fernandez?” Asher nudges me, a not-so-subtle request to address whoever it is who’s now very clearly trying to get my attention.

I rotate in my seat until I see him.

Dressed in his fitted pilot’s uniform stands an airline blast from the past. He’s definitely familiar with his dark features and styled hair. But I am completely blanking on his name. Micah? Matt?

“Marcus?” I ask, narrowing my eyes and crossing my fingers that’s correct.

He wheels his carry-on effortlessly toward us, his eyes locked on me and me alone.

“How’ve you been, stranger?” he asks, now directly in front of me. “You haven’t made a stop in Denver in ages.”

Asher looks up from his book, curiosity written all over his face, and he doesn’t have to say anything for me to know exactly what he’s thinking.

“Yeah, I’ve been mainly on East Coast and international flights these days.”

Marcus looks me up and down, and I can see that same down for anything energy simmering beneath the surface from when we first met. It’s what first drew me to him.

He was, and clearly still is, always down for no strings attached.

“That’s a shame,” he says, and his gaze shifts to Asher and then back to me. “Hit me up next time you’re in town, handsome.”

Before I can respond, he’s gone, sauntering off in his too-tight pants and overflowing confidence.

I sneak a glance at Asher.

Marking the spot in his book with his airline ticket, he sets his book down and turns slightly in my direction.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, digging out the bag of trail mix I bought earlier from my backpack. I extend it in his direction. He eyes it skeptically but accepts my offer anyway, pouring out a handful of the sweet-and-salty snack into his open palm.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, plopping a few cashews into his mouth after handing the bag back to me.

“That was nothing, by the way,” I say, out of obligation or maybe a hint of insecurity. I don’t want him to think differently of me.

He smirks. “ He definitely wanted it to be something.”

“Fair enough,” I say, not being able to deny Marcus’s obvious intentions. “But please know that for me, it was nothing.”

Asher turns to face me head-on now. “This is all kinda your thing, huh?”

“My thing?”

“I mean, Theo…look how we met. You wasted no time swooping in like some well-practiced knight in shining armor at the airport.”

“Hold on just a minute, sir.” I’m not going to let him get away with skewing reality that much. “If I recall, you were the one who was in desperate need of a partner and was practically begging me to go along on this adventure with you. What was I supposed to do? Completely blow you off?”

“The begging doesn’t sound familiar…” he says, an eyebrow cocked, but he smiles anyway, leaning back in his seat. “I’m forever grateful that you didn’t. Truly. But then everything that followed—the flirty banter, the nonstop charm, that grin…”

I lean forward in my own seat. “What grin?” I ask, hoping whatever smile I’m doing my best to plaster across my face is the one he’s referring to.

“That,” Asher says, shaking his head and pointing at me. “That right there is what I’m talking about. Normal people can’t just turn it on and off like you can.”

There’s something about his word choice that irks me more than it probably should.

“Hmm” is all I say, trying to tell myself he probably meant nothing by it.

“What?” he asks, a sudden uncertainty now swirling behind his eyes.

Normal . I can feel the blood thump its way to my ears as that word ricochets around and around my skull. “It just sounds like,” I say, turning my head in his direction, intentionally locking eyes with him, “you’re implying I’m not normal.”

I’m doing a piss-poor job at pretending I’m fine.

Concern floods his face as he attempts to backpedal. “No…I didn’t…”

I’m suddenly on my feet. “It’s fine, Asher. I get it…” But I really don’t. “You’ve got me all figured out.”

Asher opens his mouth to say something else but quickly decides against it, his cheeks burning red behind his glasses. I’m glad he swallowed whatever sentence was going to come out of his mouth next, because I don’t know if I can temper my frustration that much more.

“Do me a favor and watch my bag,” I try to ask evenly, shoving my hands in my pockets. “You know,” I add, the second the thought pops in my brain, “with everything you’ve been through, you’re the last person I thought would put people in boxes.”

“Theo, hold on,” he says quickly, an urgency—and a hint of frustration—behind his words. But I don’t want to fight or even argue with Asher right now. I just need to clear my head.

“And keep them there,” I add, feeling the weight of my own words.

His face falls as I leave him and turn toward the quiet terminal.

/////////////

When I get back, Asher and our bags are nowhere to be seen.

Neither are Jo or Arthur, actually.

I was only gone for maybe ten minutes. Fifteen tops. I’m not usually some heated Neanderthal that needs space or to cool down mid-argument, but there was something about the word normal that struck a nerve, and the last thing I’d want to do is say something I couldn’t take back.

But obviously I owe Asher an explanation.

Checking the electronic monitor at my gate to make sure I didn’t accidentally miss our boarding announcement—I didn’t—I plop down in a nearly empty row of seats facing the window to wait for him and our bags.

“Hey, you,” his voice says from behind me a few moments later. Asher takes the empty seat next to me, tucking his long legs underneath himself. “Here,” he says, passing me a bottle of water. “I got you this.” He also lobs something cold in my direction and I catch it against my chest. “This too.”

I look down at the rectangular white stick covered in plastic. “A cheese stick?”

A small smile makes its way from the corner of Asher’s mouth. “It’s the closest thing I could find to a mozzarella stick,” he says, his voice just louder than a whisper.

“Is this your subtle way of letting me know you’re instituting Rule Number Four?” I ask, peeling back the cheese stick’s wrapper. Picking at the top corner of the snack, I pull a cheesy strand and offer it to Asher. He shakes his head, so I plop it in my mouth. “Thank you for this.”

He nods, seemingly unsure of what to say or how to proceed.

“I’m sorry,” he says at the same time I do, which causes us both to laugh. Laughing with Asher feels so much better than anything else.

He puts a warm hand on my thigh, and suddenly, I’m hit with the realization of just how much his touch has become a source of comfort for me.

All of him, really.

Which leads me to the next realization, that it’s probably time for a little honesty.

He deserves that, after all.

“What you said earlier…” I start, but like a jet shooting off an aircraft carrier, Asher all but leaps forward.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, genuinely apologetic. “I shouldn’t have said or implied…I’m just really sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I put my hand on his. “Truly, Ash. I’m fine. We’re good. For some reason, the whole thing really reminded me of Ethan.”

“Your ex?” he asks. Now that I think of it, I don’t know that I’ve mentioned him by name.

I nod.

Asher’s eyes gleam at my sudden vulnerability. “Theo, we don’t have to talk about this.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say, and I think I actually mean it.

He has become a safe space for me, so now feels like as good a time as any to open up.

For real. “I don’t really talk about my time in the Navy.

Or why I left,” I add, feeling the need to choose my words carefully.

This stuff isn’t something I enjoy rehashing.

“Well, it wasn’t by choice. Ethan was one of those people you couldn’t help but be drawn to.

He was daring and bold and treated everyone around him with an unnerving warmth and kindness that you wouldn’t expect to find from someone in the military.

He was instantly my best friend and from our very first day of flight training, we were… inseparable.”