37. Isaac
Chapter 37
Isaac
“ E njoy your honeymoon, Mr. and Mrs. Britlyn.” The flight attendant hands Jo a bottle of champagne as we exit the plane. She blushes the most perfect shade of summer-sunset pink.
I squeeze her hand as she tucks the bottle under her free arm. Through the entire first hour of the flight, Jo refused to hold my hand. She immediately pulled away every time I tried.
By the third hour, I wore her down. Now, she won’t let go.
“Thank you,” she smiles and bobs her head up and down at each member of the flight crew.
As we make our way down the ramp and towards the terminal, Jo finally drops my hand and bumps my shoulder with hers. “I could get used to this special treatment. Wanna stay fake engaged forever?” She laughs, taking a few large strides ahead of me and spinning around in a circle with her bottle of champagne flying in the air.
No, I don’t want to be fucking fake engaged to you forever.
My chest squeezes uncomfortably as she continues striding ahead of me. It’s so rare to see her like this. At least now. This is the Jo I used to know.
The Jo I used to love.
Still love?
“Hey,” I say, just loud enough for her to hear and twist around to look at me. “Baggage claim is that way.” I point to my left.
“Sounds like you should go get our bags then,” she smirks, tilting her head towards the coffee shop.
“Yes, wife.” She laughs, skipping off towards the first caffeine source in California. And she says she’s not an addict.
Collecting bags is surprisingly smooth given the large crowd standing stupidly close to the conveyor. The tinge of embarrassment I feel from pushing Jo’s baby-pink suitcase dissipates immediately when I see her approaching, two iced coffees in hand. We trade coffee for luggage, and turn to make our way towards the exit.
“I wish we had more free time to explore this weekend,” Jo says. I hum my agreement as the sliding glass doors free us into the warm California air.
It’s weird how seamlessly we’ve fallen into the fantasy of being a couple. We fall in step, making our way to the shuttle that is sitting primed and ready to take us to the hotel and conference center. She hums quietly, taking sips of her coffee between lines of the song that’s stuck in her head. It’s almost always classic rock; today, it’s “Hotel California.”
The Eagles.
I’m shoved back in time to the first time I saw her. The Led Zeppelin t-shirt. The butterfly necklace. So much has changed, yet so much has stayed the same. I glance over to see the dimple that appears when she smiles—only on her right cheek.
Is there any possible way that she could feel this too? This insatiable pull that leaves me breathless and nearly knocks me off my feet every time she’s near? She’s the Earth and I’m the Moon; I can’t break free of this orbit or I’ll explode.
“Ready?” she asks, extending her hand to me as she takes a step up into the shuttle. “Your chariot awaits, husband.” Her words elicit an immediate spread of goosebumps across my body. Husband. I tug down the rolled sleeves of my shirt to hide the skin of my arms before she notices.
Yeah, I will be your husband one day.