Page 49 of Mile High Ex's Dad
“You always do this,” she says. “Something unsettles you, and instead of naming it, you become impossible for everyone around you.”
“I am always possible for the right people.”
That gets a breath of laughter from her. “There he is.”
I take a sip of coffee and let my gaze slide over the grounds again. Still no Sienna.
I should leave that alone. I should let the morning do what mornings do and trust that she will appear when her work requires it.
Instead I find myself back on the plane.
Back in that dim cabin, the hum of the engines low and constant under everything else, the smell of whiskey and her skin still on me when I finally slept. I remember waking slowly, warm and sated in a way I rarely allow myself to become, reaching for the shape of her and finding nothing.
Just cool sheets, and an empty seat.
She was gone.
At first I thought she had gone to the lavatory.
Then the cabin lights brightened a little, the captain announced our descent, and I understood. I unbuckled my seat belt and stood.
The flight attendant appeared almost instantly. “Sir, I’m sorry, we’re preparing for landing.”
“I’m aware.”
“You need to take your seat.”
“I’m looking for someone.”
Her smile stayed fixed, professional and unhelpful. “Everyone needs to remain seated now.”
I looked past her down the aisle, toward the curtain separating the cabin, already knowing it was useless. “She was here,” I said.
“I’m sure she’s returned to her assigned seat, sir.”
Assigned seat.
The phrase irritated me more than it should have.
I remember sitting back down because there was no choice, jaw tight, fingers drumming once against the armrest, already planning to find her the second we landed. But landing is chaos in private airports no less than public ones. Doors opened. Crew moved. Cars were waiting. Calls came in before my feet ever hit the tarmac. By the time I had the room to look, she was gone.
No last name.
No number.
Nothing except the memory of her mouth and the certainty that she had been there.
I looked for her anyway. Longer than I should have.
“Viktor.”
Alina’s voice pulls me back, and I realize she has said my name twice already.
“Yes?”
Her brows lift. “You were somewhere else.”
“Yes.”
