Page 100 of Making Over Maris

“Oh yes, Jack.” Her eyes shimmered. “Think how much fun it would be. We could—”

“I can’t.” Even thinking about it made his pulse race.

Her face fell as she remembered.

What a coward he was. A quivering, gutless wonder who couldn’t get on a plane without having a panic attack.

“Of course.” She crumpled the tickets in her lap.

“But that you’d like me to go, to spend that special day with you, Sara, that means a lot.”

She tipped up her chin. Hell. The tears were back. He kissed them away. “What if I ordered you to?” Her voice quavered when she said it.

He chuckled but it was a lame attempt at humor. “I can’t.”

Her sigh tugged at his heart. “I don’t want to go alone.”

“You won’t be alone, remember? I hired you an escort.” Yeah. Another guy. To squire her around town. In his place. He was delighted about that. But she’d asked for it.

She gaped at him and then smacked him. “You didn’t.”

“You said you wanted one.”

“I was kidding, Jack!”

He blinked. “How was I supposed to know that?”

“Seriously. You didn’t hire one.”

“I did.” She’d said she wanted one, for Christ’s sake.

She dissolved in a laugh. “Oh, Jack.”

“You are still going to go, aren’t you? It is your dream. I booked dinner for you on your birthday. For you and—what’s his name, Philippe?—at Le Jules Verne Restaurant on the second level of the Eiffel Tower. It’s fancy, tablecloths even, so you’ll want to dress up.”

“I don’t want to have dinner with Philippe.”

“He’s super-hot.”

“But he’s not you.”

Aw. Now that made him tear up.

She tried to shove the tickets back at him but he wouldn’t take them.

“Sara, you held up your end of the bargain. Now I’m holding up mine. I want you to go. I want you to have fun.” And not think about what a sniveling yellowbelly he was.

It had only been a little plane crash. And he’d been pretty young. Why the hell wasn’t he over it by now? Every plane that took off didn’t plummet to the ground. There was evidence to that fact. People walking around who had lived to tell about it.

Still, the memories of the sickening plunging sensation, the horror of the oxygen masks popping out and dangling down, all the screaming. Aunt Linda’s sharp claws sinking into his arm… He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

“Jack, I can’t.”

“You’re going, Sara.” And, by God, she was.

Even if he had to get bossy.

When Sara walked into her office Monday morning, flowers were waiting for her. Lots of flowers. It was like a florist’s shop. She smiled at the bouquets and sniffed a rose.