Five
O N FRIDAY I’M WEIRD and squirmy as Cash drives me to the airport.
I should have broken up with him.
Something inside me knows it.
But I didn’t.
Every time it crossed my mind and I mentally crafted some sort of conversation opener, a wave of fear and uncertainty overwhelmed me, closing my throat.
I’ve spent my entire life only acting when I’m on solid emotional ground, when I’m certain that what I’m doing is right and smart and safe. I might be superficially my own person, but I’m not a risk-taker.
If a step feels like it’s off the edge of a cliff, I simply will not take it.
So I’m still dating Cash and feeling kind of sick about it.
Not that I believe there’s any future with Isaac. He’s basically a stranger on a plane. A passerby in my life. And sure, he might be attractive and exciting, but we don’t even live in the same city. He’s not any sort of real foundation for my life.
Mostly I feel guilty because I’m dating Cash but am excited to get away from him and see someone else. That’s reason enough to end the relationship.
I should have been brave enough to do it.
Brave has never been me. Hiding in the shadows and doing my own thing has always been who I am. Isaac would probably have a few choice words to say about that claim, but that shouldn’t be relevant to my peace of mind or decision-making.
Overall, I’m torn between nerves and relief as I wave goodbye to Cash and head into the airport.
There’s no sign of Isaac as I get through security and walk to the gate. And there’s no sign of him as I wait until they start boarding. Still no sign as I get in line, get scanned through to the plane, and maneuver my way to my seat.
I’ve settled myself and my stuff into position and checked my phone for messages, but there’s still no glimpse of Isaac’s broad shoulders and rumpled mop of brown hair.
Maybe he got delayed. Maybe something came up. Maybe anything. There’s absolutely no way for me to know. I don’t have his number. We’ve never been in contact outside the airport. He could have dropped off the planet sometime during the past five days, and I’ll never know what happened.
Not pleasant thoughts. I’m working on mentally resettling myself when I’m suddenly aware of a warm, familiar presence.
Isaac. Grinning at me endearingly as he stows his suitcase and then slides into the seat beside me.
So who can blame me? I smile back.
He’s holding a small box in one hand. A box from a familiar bakery.
“What’s that?”
He twitches his eyebrows—arching them a few times in a row in quick succession—and doesn’t answer. He takes his time as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, loosens his tie, slides out his iPad, and stows it in the pocket before he finally opens the lid of the box.
Two cupcakes like the ones I took to Raven.
He carefully takes out one and balances it on a small napkin on the narrow armrest between us. “You missed out on yours last week because you gave it to me.”
The warm wave of pleasure and appreciation that washes over me threatens to melt me into goo. “I see you got yourself another one.”
“Of course. It would be rude for you to eat one in front of me when I was bereft, and I’m far too honorable to put you in that position.”
It takes effort to stifle a giggle. “That’s very chivalrous of you.”
“I think so.”
I swipe a small fingerful of icing and pop it into my mouth.
Isaac watches with laughter in his eyes.
Inspired, I draw my bag out from under the seat with my foot and then reach down to snag the strap. I pull out a collapsible cup I always carry with me and pour half my tea into it, handing it to Isaac and trying to mimic his sober expression and laughing eyes.
He somehow knows exactly what I’m attempting. “Nope,” he says, accepting the tea and taking a sip. “You don’t quite have it. Your dimples are showing.”
With an exaggerated eye roll, I try again, but the amusement keeps bubbling up. I have no idea how to keep it down.
“Still no.”
“Fine,” I huff. “Whatever. Some of us aren’t naturally talented at hiding what we’re feeling.”
“Do you think it’s natural talent or practiced skill?”
“I think it’s your contrary nature. It’s not a skill I have any desire to cultivate, so don’t get too pleased with yourself.”
“I thought you might be nice to me today. I brought you a cupcake.”
I gently pull down the wrapper of mine and take a small bite. I take my time, enjoying both the taste and Isaac’s impatient expression before I swallow. “A single cupcake doesn’t buy you niceness.”
“How many cupcakes would buy me that?”
“Way more than you can afford.”
He gives a laugh made up of two gusty exhales and takes a bite of his cupcake.
“I was going to be nice to you today,” I add, “but then you showed your true obnoxious colors. And my good intentions flew out the window.”
“I see.” His mouth twitches as he sips his tea. He’s doing that thing where he appears to focus on his iPad but is still somehow fully engaged with me.
The flight attendant starts the instructional intro just then, and the plane starts moving with a small jerk. Isaac slides the iPad back into the seat pocket, holding his tea in one hand and cupcake in the other. We both silently eat and drink and occasionally give each other sidelong smiles until we’re in the air.
By then the cupcakes and most of the tea are gone. I pull out my knitting while Isaac starts working on a spreadsheet.
I ask him how his job is going, and he asks what my plans are for the weekend. We alternate between chatting and sitting in relaxed silence for more than an hour, and I have a good time.
A really good time.
A far better time than a scenario so simple should ever deliver.
It’s not until I think about Cash that my mood drops.
Why the hell didn’t I break up with him? Then I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about enjoying this time with Isaac.
Maybe—the thought comes to me for the first time with a tidal wave of recognition—maybe my connection to Cash is my safety net. And without it I’d be free-falling into something entirely unknown. Entirely dangerous.
And I’ve never let myself do that before.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, looking over at me fully.
“Nothing. What are you talking about?”
“You tell me. Because you were having a good time, and then something changed.”
“You have no way of knowing that.”
He arches his eyebrows in that smug, shrewd way.
I scowl. “I thought you were the one who never picks up vibes.”
“I didn’t pick up vibes. I observed details. You got tense. You stopped looking at me. You keep shifting in your seat like you’re uncomfortable. So either you’re not feeling good or you’re upset about something. Either way, something is wrong.”
It’s highly unnerving that he can see so much in me in just a few sidelong glances. “What if I just need to go to the bathroom?”
“Then you would have said so and asked me to get up so you can get out of your seat. You’re not someone who would be embarrassed to ask.”
“No. I wouldn’t be embarrassed.”
“So it’s something else, and I want to know what it is.”
“You’re being kind of pushy. We’re not that close. Just because we’ve shared a few flights and a couple of cupcakes doesn’t mean we’re friends or confidantes.”
I expect him to be annoyed the way he’s been before when I put up a stone wall in a conversation. But he’s not. He gives a dry huff of amusement. “Confidantes? Are we in a Victorian novel now?”
“Don’t mock. It’s a perfectly good word. People should use it more.”
“Okay. I’ll see if I can work it into my vocabulary.” He leans toward me slightly. “But I still need to know what you got upset about.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It feels like it is.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“Okay.” He half shrugs. “I’m wrong.”
He doesn’t believe me, but at least he’s letting the topic drop. We spend the rest of the time until our descent into Boston quietly doing our own work in mostly good spirits. I occasionally sneak a few covert glances at him, and I catch him doing the same to me more than once.
It excites me. Makes me jittery.
But too guilty to fully enjoy it.
After we land and connect to the gate, we have to wait for the rest of the plane to deboard, and then he takes my suitcase down from the overhead compartment like normal before he gets his own.
When we walk up the ramp and into the airport, we stand looking at each other for a minute.
“Okay,” he says at last, squaring his shoulders and turning toward the hall that leads to the exit. “I can do it.”
“Do what?”
“Break up with Sophie.”
“What?” I’m so shocked that the one word comes out as a squeak.
He frowns down at me like he’s confused. “Why are you surprised? We talked about this last week. It’s not right to string her along when I’m not all in.” He shakes his head, looking at a spot in the air over my right shoulder. “And I’m not all in.”
“Oh.”
He frowns down at me. “Didn’t you break up with Cash?”
“No! Why would you assume that?”
“Because we talked about it.”
“We talked about it in theory. We didn’t make a breakup pact or anything like that.”
He’s gotten stiffer. His jaw muscles ripple. “You didn’t break up with him?”
“No. I wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do, and I never act unless I’m sure.”
“Of course it’s the right thing to do. You’re not into him any more than I’m into Sophie. Why are you dragging the relationship out like that?”
I’m getting upset now. Both resentful at his presumptions and guilty because part of me knows he’s right. “I told you. I wasn’t sure what the right thing to do is.”
“You’re sure. You just prefer to have the security blanket.” His tone is sharp the way I haven’t heard at all today. Until now.
“Cash is not a security blanket!”
“Okay. If you say so.” His eyes are narrowed as he looks down at me. He’s not happy with me. “Anyway, I’m going to break up with Sophie because I’m sure it’s the right thing to do. And I’m sure partly because you convinced me of it. So maybe you should take your own advice.”
I’m angry now. Not as much at his words as at his smug, condescending tone. I’m about to snap back at him, but he turns away from me.
Walks away.
Just like that. Without another word.
He walks away from me.