Chapter 3
Chapter three
Ten Days Later
My suitcase is packed, zipped, and standing upright by the door.
Mocking me. Every time I walk past it.
Even my condo seems aware of what tomorrow could mean. My friendship with Zach is my most important relationship. I’m facing a long stretch of time with him alone.
On his private jet.
For me, outside of our one transgression years ago, the potential of pushing things into uncharted territory with Zach has never been an option.
Too risky.
His invitation might mean nothing. But…the way he looked at me at dinner was…different.
Even still, there’s no scenario where I do something stupid to jeopardize our relationship. Not without a guarantee our friendship won’t change.
As if saving me from my inner dialogue, my phone vibrates on the kitchen counter.
Prague Chaos Thread notifications ping in rapid succession.
Julian: Final rehearsal dinner headcount tonight. I refuse to reorganize tables inside a castle.
Irving: Just me. No plus-one. I demand seating far from any interpretive dancing.
Marisol: There’s no interpretive dancing.
Zach: Wanna bet?
A smile curves before I can stop it.
Marisol attaches a schedule to the string. Thursday night is reserved for law school crew. Friday rehearsal dinner at the castle. Saturday ceremony at four followed by a reception.
I respond automatically. Confirm I’ll be at the venue early. Promise to wrangle Marisol’s sister if needed. Let them know it’s only me for the meals.
Then Zach chimes in with:
Zach: Sky and I arrive at noon.
My heart begins to pound as my mind begins whirling again. I haven’t seen Zach in weeks. The last time we were together, something shifted. I felt it under my skin.
I didn’t deflect. I didn’t hide. I agreed to fly to Prague with him.
Since then, we’ve talked and texted a bit. Trade fragments of our days. Nearly two months later, I can’t help but worry there’s been too much space. Space gives my brain room to draft arguments. Construct defenses. Identify risk.
Not good.
My phone rings. Marisol.
I answer and put the phone on speaker while I pace.
“Tell me you’re not spiraling.” Her voice is bright and suspicious all at once.
I close my eyes and sigh. “I’m not spiraling.”
“Oh, you’re absolutely spiraling,” she counters. I hear her heels click faintly on her hardwood floors.
“We haven’t seen each other.” I push off the counter and walk to my bedroom. “He’s been with your husband.”
“And?” she prompts, impatience layered over concern.
“We won’t have a Monday dinner before we leave.” I lower myself onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what’s what.”
She exhales slowly, understanding immediately. “So you’re going straight to a runway with no reset.”
“Yes.”
A soft laugh leaves her. “Tragic.”
“This isn’t funny,” I protest, staring at the suitcase near the door.
“I’m not making fun of you.” The humor fades from her tone. “Are you scared you misread everything?”
“You weren’t there.” My fingers trace the seam of my comforter.
“I didn’t need to be,” she insists. “Fact of the matter is, he specifically invited you and only you onto his plane. He could have offered to fly all of us over, and he didn’t.”
“He’s decisive,” I murmur.
“With work,” she counters, and I can almost visualize her lifting a brow.
I recline into my pillows and stare at the ceiling. Adrenaline pumps through my body and I can barely breathe. “Oh, God. What if you’re right and I did misread the situation?”
“Sky,” she soothes softly, “don’t be scared he’ll pull back.”
“I’m not.” I swallow. “I’m scared I won’t.”
She laughs. “It’s about time you told him you need a repeat.”
“Except, I don’t want to ruin our Mondays.” I glance out the window at the Space Needle glittering in the distance.
“For God’s sake, Sky. Monday isn’t sacred,” she replies firmly. “It’s comfortable. You’re not moving forward if you stagnate in a friendship when you want more.”
She has a point. However, status quo has kept me steady for years.
It’s also kept me safe.
My phone vibrates on my thigh. I glance at the screen.
Zach.
“Hold on.” I bolt upright.
Zach: I’ll meet you at the jet at 7:30. Boeing Field. Clay Lacey Aviation.
Meet you at the jet. No car ride together. No easing in.
“He just texted,” I tell Marisol.
“And?” she queries.
“He wants me to meet him at the plane.” I pace a groove in my hardwood floor.
She releases a low sound. “Oh.”
“Exactly.”
I can already picture it. Wind tugging at my coat. Engines whirring. Zach waiting with his signature controlled, unreadable posture.
“This is going to be a catastrophic mistake,” I whine, stopping in front of the mirror to check myself out.
“It could be,” she agrees. “Or it could be the start of something amazing. Either way, you’ve both avoided this for years. At least you’ll have—”
“If this goes badly,“ I interrupt, “I lose him.”
“Sky. You don’t have him,” she replies gently.
Ouch.
“At least I have something,” I press my palm flat on the dresser.
“No,” she responds. “You don’t have what you want.”
Silence stretches for an uncomfortably long period of time.
“You don’t want safety,” she finally speaks. “You want him.”
The truth bristles under my skin.
“True, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself,” I whisper.
“You won’t,” she replies without hesitation. “I promise.”
My eyes fill with tears and I’m grateful we’re not on a video call. “You can’t know that.”
“I know both of you, and you’ll survive,” she assures.
Her certainty steadies me more than it should.
“If he steps forward,” she continues, “are you sure you’re not gonna step back?”
I picture his face at dinner. The way his voice softened when he told me he wanted me there.
“I am. I want to explore this if he does,” I answer finally.
“Good.”
We transition back into logistics. Dress steaming. Timeline adjustments. How many tissues she’ll need before walking down the aisle to Julian.
When we hang up, the apartment is noticeably quieter.
I open Zach’s message again.
Meet you at the jet.
My pulse rises.
Me: I’ll be there.
The three dots appear almost instantly.
Zach: I know.
I stare at the words longer than necessary.
Is he really so certain? Does he have any doubts?
It’s late. I need to get some sleep, so I plug my phone into the charger, climb into bed, and turn off the lamp. The suitcase stands by the door as proof I’m not backing out.
Tomorrow, after work, I’ll meet him at his jet and we’ll fly to Prague together. With nothing left to buffer us.
By the time we land, I’ll have my answer.