Logan
Hampton, Virginia
I park my truck a block away from the restaurant and climb out, hurrying to Lila’s door before she can reach for the handle.
I offer her my hand, and she takes it, placing one heeled foot on the running board before gracefully stepping down.
For a second, she keeps hold of my hand, our fingers loosely laced together, before she lets go.
Six years of thinking about her, and now she’s right here.
“This is beautiful,” she says, looking up at the brick facade of the restaurant. The glow of vintage lanterns casts a warm light against the deepening evening.
“I hoped you’d like it.” I study her expression, trying to gauge if this was the right call. “Figured something intimate might suit us better than loud music and a crowd.”
Her lips curve slightly. “You figured right.”
I hold the door open for her, my pulse kicking up when she brushes past me, close enough for the scent of her perfume to linger, vanilla mixed with something floral.
Inside, the restaurant is cozy but elegant, all exposed brick, dark wooden beams, and soft candlelight. The kind of place that feels timeless. The hostess leads us to a corner table by the fireplace, and I pull out Lila’s chair before taking my own.
“I didn’t take you for a ‘candlelit dinner’ kind of guy,” she teases, tilting her head as she studies me.
I shrug. “I have layers.”
As soon as we order, the conversation flows easily. Too easily. There’s no awkwardness, no stumbling to find common ground. It’s like we’ve stepped back into something familiar only, now, there’s an edge to it. A quiet awareness that wasn’t there before.
We trade stories, learning more about each other’s lives since Vegas, but the one topic we’ve both been skirting eventually settles between us.
“I guess we should talk about it,” Lila says, shifting her wineglass between her hands.
I exhale, leaning back in my chair. “Us working together?”
She nods. “I guess it’s not technically an issue. I mean, I’m not in your chain of command. I’m not even military.”
“But your dad is,” I point out.
Her lips press together for a beat before she nods again. “Yeah.”
Not just her dad.
I glance down, running my thumb along the condensation on my glass. “I know who he is. I met him years ago, at the—” I pause, needing to take a sip of my Old Fashioned. “I met him not long after I started flying. But I’ve never served under him.”
She gives a soft laugh, but it’s almost self-conscious. “Yeah, I kind of figured you at least knew the name. I didn’t tell you in Vegas on purpose. I was afraid it’d scare you off. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been dishonest but…”
We were never supposed to see each other again.
I lift my gaze to hers. “How do you think he’d feel about you dating a pilot?”
I cringe. Dating? Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that.
She hesitates, a glimpse of something unreadable crossing her face. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Not exactly comforting,” I joke lightly, trying to keep things from getting too heavy.
She smiles, but there’s something thoughtful in her expression.
“I don’t think he’d have an issue with you personally.
He’s not the overprotective type. But he’s been in the Air Force his whole life—he knows what the lifestyle is like.
The deployments, the risks, the…uncertainty.
It’s why he didn’t—” She clears her throat.
“I think he’d have concerns. Especially considering what you do. ”
I nod slowly, though it wasn’t a question.
I can’t blame the guy if he’d rather his daughter avoid this kind of life.
Dating a demo pilot would be one thing. But I’m still active duty.
I still deploy. I’m still abruptly sent off on missions as needed.
And truth be told, I have zero intention of leaving the Air Force.
If I can’t fly anymore, they’ll be sending me to command.
Group, wing, whatever, but I’m not going anywhere.
“I guess that’s something we’ll have to figure out,” I say finally.
She studies me for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. I guess if you…if we…”
I smile. “If we?”
“Umm if we…go to dinner again?” She doesn’t try to mask the grimace.
“I’d like that, a lot—” I say before she has time to wonder if I’m thinking the same thing.
The conversation shifts after that, lighter but still laced with the complicated reality of our situation.
“So, tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” she says, her voice soft but curious as she leans forward slightly.
I pause, sitting back in my chair, and think. “Alright. Here’s one for you,” I say, shifting forward, my voice dropping just a bit. “I nearly quit flying.”
Twice. But I don’t tell her that.
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Really? Why would you want to quit?”
I look down at the flickering candle for a few long seconds before meeting her gaze again.
“It was back when I was first learning to fly the F-22. I’d transferred to Nellis, and everything was new.
The plane, the speed, the stakes…I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
The pressure was crushing. I felt like I was in over my head. ”
She studies me, her eyes soft and understanding. “What changed?”
I smile faintly. “One of my instructors pulled me aside and reminded me that every great pilot feels like this at some point. And if I didn’t want to be great, I wouldn’t be there. It stuck with me. I stopped overthinking and just…flew.”
Her lips curve into a small smile, and she nods. “I can see that. You don’t strike me as someone who gives up easily.”
I chuckle softly. “Maybe not now.” I take a sip of my drink. “What about you?” I ask. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”
She hesitates, her fingers tracing the edge of her wineglass. “Alright,” she says finally. “Until I started college, I wanted to be a professional ballerina.”
I tilt my head, surprised. “Really? What stopped you?”
She gives a soft laugh, shaking her head.
“Life. Reality. My family moved around a lot because of my dad’s job, and eventually, I just…
let it go. I got tired of being the new girl at the studio every few years.
So I focused on more practical things. I double majored in business and hospitality management and then got my MBA.
But I think ever since I quit ballet, I quit taking chances.
I often wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stuck with it. ”
“You’d have been amazing,” I say, and I mean it.
Her cheeks flush and she looks away. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I say firmly.
Her eyes soften as they meet mine again and the rest of the room fades away.
By the time dessert arrives, we’ve shared more than I expected. I tell her about the first time I saw an F-22 and knew I’d do anything to fly one. She tells me about her dream of having her own HGTV home-flipping show.
It’s not just attraction anymore. It’s understanding.
The night air is warm as we walk back to my truck.
“This was perfect,” she says softly.
I glance at her, my heart beating a little too hard. “It’s not over yet.”
She lifts a brow. “Oh?”
I smirk, opening the passenger door for her. “You’ll see.”
She narrows her eyes playfully as she climbs in. “You really like surprises, don’t you?”
“Only the good kind.”
The drive is quiet, the hum of the truck filling the space between us. Every so often, I catch her stealing glances at me, her expression unguarded.
When we pull up to Fort Monroe, the soft glow of the lighthouse stretches into the night sky. The fort stands silhouetted against the darkness, an American flag rippling above it.
“The fort at night?” she asks, surprise lacing her voice.
I nod. “Figured it’d be quiet this late. Just us and some history.”
She smiles as she unbuckles. “This is so thoughtful.”
I grab a blanket from the back seat and drape it over my arm, before taking her hand.
“Planning a picnic now?” she teases.
“Something like that.”
We sit near the water’s edge, the city lights flickering in the distance. Lila leans back on her elbows, looking up at the stars. Her heels are off, her bare feet crossed at the ankles, and for a moment, I just watch her.
She tilts her head toward me, studying me. “You’re not what I expected, you know.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”
She grins. “Something cockier. Like, ‘Look at me, I fly fighter jets.’”
I chuckle. “Trust me, those guys do exist.” I hesitate, then say, “Can I tell you something?”
She turns to me, her expression open. “Of course.”
I exhale, watching the way the water laps the fort’s walls. “I’ve thought about you a lot over the last six years.”
Her breath catches slightly, but she doesn’t look away. “You have?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Vegas is known for meaningless one-night stands and suspect choices. But I’ve never seen what happened between us that way.”
Her gaze softens, and she shifts to face me more fully. After studying me for a long moment, she whispers, “Neither have I.”
Her hand rests near mine, close but not quite touching. I make the first move, my fingers brushing hers lightly. She laces them together.
Maybe this is reckless. Maybe it’ll get complicated.
But sitting here with her, feeling the warmth of her hand in mine, I’m pretty sure it’s worth it.
***
I pull into Lila’s driveway, leaving the truck running so she knows I don’t plan to stay. She locks our fingers together, her other hand resting lightly on my bare forearm, my discarded sport coat thrown onto the backseat after dinner. At full height she comes up to my shoulder.
She tilts her head up at me, a small smile playing at her lips. “This was my favorite date I’ve ever been on. The second best was our night in Vegas.”
I huff a soft laugh before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She pulls back, her expression warm. “Thank you, Logan. Really.”
“Can I come see you before we leave Wednesday?” We have back-to-back demos. This coming weekend in Florida and the following weekend in North Carolina. Lila will be at both but I don’t exactly consider work to be quality time together.
“I’d love that,” she says, covering a yawn with the back of her hand.
I chuckle. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I lean in and press a kiss to her cheek. But before I can pull back, she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me, deep and unhurried.
I want to sink into it. Want to press her against her front door and lose myself in her completely.
But I don’t.
I pull back just enough to regain some semblance of control. “Goodnight, Lila.”
She smiles, her eyes bright. “Goodnight, Logan.”
I step back, watching as she slips inside, the door clicking softly behind her.
I exhale, running a hand through my hair as I walk back to my truck.
Yeah. Definitely worth it.