Chapter 15
Callum
“You brought me to an Air Force museum?”
Gabrielle’s voice echoed off the corrugated metal walls, caught between disbelief and delight.
I locked the car. “What were you expecting? A champagne cruise down the Seine?”
She glanced up at the tan aluminum building with royal blue shutters, its sloped roof gleaming in the afternoon sun. The sign read Perrin Air Force Base Museum. She looked at me like she was torn between concern and reluctant admiration.
“Unconventional,” she said, “but you do know how to make a girl swoon.”
“I do my best.”
Inside, the cool air carried the scent of aged metal and sun-warmed concrete, layered with the ghost of jet fuel long since dried.
Gabrielle had barely made it two steps before she stopped short, her gaze locking on a gleaming blue-and-white jet planted like royalty at the center of the exhibit floor.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
I leaned in. “Careful. I think you’re drooling.”
She shot me a look over her shoulder—mock-scathing, entirely fond. “You brought me here just to watch me geek out, didn’t you?”
“Guilty,” I said, utterly unrepentant.
She took off like a shot, circling the aircraft with wide eyes and a reverence usually reserved for priceless art. I followed at a more leisurely pace, letting her enthusiasm set the course.
The museum’s interior was cavernous but crammed, its layout more passion project than polished curation.
Artifacts from every era of military aviation filled the space—propellers suspended from the rafters, flight suits sealed behind plexiglass, training manuals stacked beside polished engine components.
A mannequin pilot in full gear slouched in a cockpit shell, painted eyes fixed on the middle distance.
Gabrielle barely noticed. She was already halfway around the jet, vibrating with excitement. “Cessna T-37B Tweet,” she rattled off, practically bouncing. “Twin-engined trainer jet, used for decades. She’s gorgeous.”
“She?”
Gabrielle ignored the question, pressing her palms to the stanchion rope like proximity alone might satisfy her hunger. “I’ve only ever seen one in photos. Look at the cockpit! And they’ve got the J47 over there too—I can’t believe it.”
I followed her line of sight to the back corner where a General Electric turbojet engine sat on its stand like a metallic beast, its polished casing flayed open to expose its gleaming heart.
“First jet engine with a thrust-to-weight ratio over one,” she said, spinning to face me. “Changed everything.”
I smiled at how she came fully alive. This was Gabrielle in her element—sharp, unfiltered, electrified. And no idea how stunning she was. I wondered, fleetingly, if she had the faintest notion what it did to me—watching her like this.
I cleared my throat.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She fixed me with a penetrating gaze, her head tilted.
I shook my head, a smile still tugging at my lips. “Your enthusiasm is exhilarating. Not that I needed more proof, but seeing you like this tells me you’ve chosen the right field of study—and eventually, the perfect future.”
Her expression softened into something vulnerable and luminous—a look that threatened to unravel the last of my composure if I stared too long.
“Speaking of which, what do you plan to do with your engineering degree?” I asked, steering us back to safer ground. “Graduate school? Engine design? Flying? Military? Perhaps an astronaut?”
She laughed again, full and bright. “Let’s start with grad school.” Her face dropped for a moment before the light returned. “I’m not qualified for the military, so astronaut is definitely out too.”
“Why are you disqualified from service, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Heart condition.” She tapped her chest. “Mitral valve prolapse.”
“Is everything all right?” I asked, only then catching the edge of worry in my voice.
She waved a hand. “I’m fine. I just have a good relationship with my cardiologist.” She paused, gaze drifting to the jet before snapping back to me. “It doesn’t affect me in any real way—just made both the Navy and the Air Force turn me down.”
I stepped closer, as though proximity might lessen the impact of what she’d said. “The same reason being an astronaut is ruled out?”
She laughed and nodded. “And the fact that I’m perfectly happy on this planet and don’t feel the need to leave it.” Her expression turned wistful. “My dad had the same heart condition, and it kept him out too.”
“Then I admire your tenacity even more.” The words escaped before I could temper them, but they rang true.
She glanced away, a light flush coloring her cheeks as we passed a wall of sepia-toned photographs—aviators mid-laugh or mid-stride, their lives frozen and framed. Gabrielle studied them, perhaps finding echoes of herself in their imagined stories.
“How about you? Why physics?”
I considered the question, momentarily distracted by her nearness. “A lifelong fascination,” I said. “Not merely how things work, but why. I suppose that sounds terribly dull.”
“Not at all,” she said, green eyes keen and curious.
I paused before a display case of radio components, weighing the right words to articulate a passion that had always defied explanation. “In a world where everything is gray and in flux, the pursuit of answers—real answers, without spin—feels practically spiritual.”
She smiled—undeniably mischievous. “You almost make physics sound sexy.”
“Almost?” My pulse quickened as I stepped closer. “You don’t think physics is sexy?”
She laughed, light and unrestrained. “I think you’re doing your best to convince me.”
“Physics is exceedingly sexy,” I insisted, feigning indignation. “The sexiest of the sciences.”
“Not chemistry?” she teased as we passed another row of exhibits. “Or biology?”
“They’re just applied physics,” I said. “And they wish they were as sexy.” I grabbed her hand and tugged her behind a mannequin in full flight gear.
“Allow me to make my case more effectively.” She barely had time to gasp before I pulled her close.
My mouth was at her ear, my voice low enough to be indecent.
“Physics is energy,” I murmured, tracing a finger along her jawline.
I pulled her flush against me. “Bodies in motion.”
“Heat?” she breathed.
“Thermodynamics,” I corrected, nipping at her earlobe. Her shiver was immediate and gratifying.
We were scandalously hidden, obscured by aviation memorabilia in a strategic corner of the exhibit. Her back pressed against the cool metal wall as I loomed over her with a barely civilized hunger. She tilted her head back, eyes alight with challenge.
“Wavelength is why your eyes are that stunning shade of green.” I kissed her neck. “Why your cheeks flush pink when I kiss you.”
“Frequency.” She was breathless, her voice soft and teasing. “Is why I can hear your voice.”
I groaned, filled with want and urgency. I placed her palm flat on my chest. “That jolt you feel? That’s your nervous system—pure electricity.” I took her face in my hands and kissed her, slow and heated.
She returned the kiss with a fervor that made my head spin, then pulled back just enough to whisper, “What about acceleration?”
I chuckled as I kissed along her collarbone. “You mean the way we’re moving dangerously fast?”
“Mm-hmm.” She tangled her fingers in my hair.
“That’s velocity,” I said, every neuron firing as she pressed closer.
“And gravity?” she asked, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Undeniable.” I lifted her against the wall and claimed her mouth again.
A loud, theatrical throat-clearing broke the moment, followed by the steady shuffle of footsteps.
I eased Gabrielle back to the floor, and we stepped apart just as an elderly museum volunteer passed, her hair a cloud-like halo dyed a whimsical shade of violet.
She offered no admonishment beyond a knowing smirk and a dramatic wink.
She walked on without a word, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if admiring a pipe.
Gabrielle stifled a laugh, mischief dancing in her eyes.
We wound through display cases and tributes to local veterans until Gabrielle paused before an exhibit entirely devoid of modern machinery.
It was a modest section on the American Revolution—glass cases of weathered documents and rows of tarnished muskets, their bayonets dulled by time.
A cracked drum and rusted tin plates sat beneath faded banners.
“I didn’t think they’d have anything this old here,” she said, bending to examine a tricorn hat that looked ready to dissolve. Her delight was palpable, tinged with disbelief.
I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped.
She shot me a curious glance. “What’s so funny?”
I hesitated, knowing I was caught either way. “I always find it amusing what Americans consider ‘old,’” I said, leaning against the case with a smirk.
“And what do you consider old, then?” Her eyes sparked with challenge.
“Let me take you to England sometime, and I’ll show you.” The words lingered, charged. A future both imagined and terrifyingly real.
Her lips parted in surprise, then softened into a smile—unguarded. It unraveled me in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. Heat pooled in my chest.
“Well,” she said, teasing yet tender. “I suppose I’d better renew my passport.”