Page 2 of Flights and Sights

“That’s pretty cool.” I paused a moment. “Wait—a travel writer who hates to fly?”

Cal shrugged. “I didn’t set out to get into travel writing. It was sort of an accident. I love everything about it except for the planes. Usually I can take a pill for my anxiety and it goes okay, but I ran out. What about you?”

I nodded, appreciating his honesty about mental health. It was refreshing to see someone not afraid to talk about their struggles, rather than feeling ashamed. “Family business. I run a meadery.”

Cal laughed again. “That’s way cooler.”

As he laughed, my gaze flickered down to his lips and back to his hazel eyes. I tried to focus on anything else—his dark, mid-length hair, the five-o’clock shadow on his face, his long neck with a prominent Adam’s apple. That last one pulled me up short and I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head. “It is pretty cool,” I said finally, returning to the conversation. A moment later, I tilted my head toward the flight attendant who was coming down the aisle. “Looks like the worst is over.”

“For now.” He loosened his grip on my hand and slid it back to his lap, running the other hand through his hair. A few strands fell on his forehead and I had the strangest urge to brush them away for him.

We both closed our eyes for a while, though I’m not sure either one of us fell asleep. I definitely didn’t, far too aware of his body next to mine to get any sort of rest. After what had to have been an hour, I opened my eyes and saw Callum looking at me. A few moments of silence passed before he spoke. “Sacramento, huh?”

I nodded. “I live near there, yeah.”

“What were you traveling for? Visiting a friend?”

“No, I was on a business trip, actually. There was a conference.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? A mead-making conference?”

“I know. It’s hard to believe if you’re not in the industry. I feel like there’s probably a conference for just about anything you can think of, being held somewhere.”

“How did the conference go? Did you learn anything?”

I was sure he was just asking to be polite, but I launched into a description of the branding lecture I went to, the tasting sessions, and the competition at the end of the conference.

“And you entered your mead in the competition?”

I nodded. “We won a gold medal for Best Legacy Brand in the sweet category.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s impressive. Right?”

I chuckled and nodded again. “It’s not bad. I’m proud of it.”

“What’s a legacy brand?”

“A brand that’s been around since nineteen eighty or earlier. We’ve been around for a long time. My grandparents founded the meadery in the sixties, one of the first in the US. When they got to the age where they were ready to retire, my uncle took over. Now it’s my turn.” Another quiet moment passed. “Tell me about your family reunion.”

“Oh, man.” Cal rolled his eyes. “What’s there to tell?”

“What can you possibly do for a whole month?”

He laughed. “Good point. Most of the activities are on the weekends. Weekdays are for a little local sightseeing and big family dinners, but come Saturday and Sunday, it’s game on. Scavenger hunts, cooking competitions, taking group classes, a talent show, lawn games, you name it.”

I couldn’t stop the smile that spread slowly over my face. “A talent show?”

He looked away with a soft smile, his cheeks turning pink, visible through the stubble. “A talent show.”

“Please tell me your talent is something incredible, like playing music on water glasses or juggling or breathing fire.”

“Nothing so exciting.”

“Wait—sword swallowing. That’s it, isn’t it?”

His cheeks really reddened then, my stomach swooping. “I play guitar. I told you. Boring.”

“That’s not boring at all. I don’t play any instruments. I don’t have any hidden talent at all.”