Lila
Langley AFB
I can’t stop smiling as I start to climb down the ladder. I pause, letting my finger trace the Capt. Logan “Viking” James engraved in the metal.
Logan’s warm hands are on my waist, guiding me, and linger just a little longer than necessary. My feet hit the ground, but I feel like I’m still up in the clouds, caught somewhere between the thrill of sitting in that incredible machine and the way Logan is looking at me right now.
“Now you’re officially spoiled,” he says, his voice teasing as he leans against the ladder, his arms crossed casually but his eyes locked on mine. “You know I can’t top this, right?”
I laugh softly, brushing a strand of curled dark hair behind my ear. “I don’t know…I think you’re pretty creative. You’ll figure something out.”
His grin widens, but I can’t see his eyes behind his aviators. “Is that a challenge, Mercer?”
“Maybe it is, Captain,” I tease back.
He steps closer, the air between us charged with something that feels as electric as the hum of the jet engines earlier. “Careful,” he murmurs. “I take challenges very seriously.”
Before I can come up with a witty reply, one of the ground crew calls out, breaking the moment. Logan glances over his shoulder, lifting a hand in acknowledgment, and I take the chance to steady my racing heart.
“Come on,” he says, turning back to me with an easy smile. “Let’s get out of here. I probably owe you lunch for enduring Raptor 101.”
As we walk back toward my office, the roar of another jet echoes across the tarmac, and I glance back at his Raptor one last time. Logan notices and nudges me gently with his elbow.
“You like him, don’t you?” he asks, his tone light but with a hint of pride.
“He’s incredible,” I admit, looking up at Logan and trying not to think about Lincoln and his dream to fly the very same Raptor.