Chapter 10 Dating Lessons
Ten
Dating Lessons
Miles
All morning, Nora and Diane linger in my thoughts. Yesterday’s drone flying was a success—Diane is an incredible woman. Strong. Vibrant. Full of life. And Nora has all those same qualities. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
I’ve been flying drones for years, everything from real estate footage to sports promos to sweeping cinematic passes over forests or cities at sunrise, but yesterday wasn’t about footage—or even a fake date with Nora—it was about Diane forgetting her body for a minute.
I don’t know all of her struggles. I don’t need to.
The gleam in her eyes told me enough. For that moment, she was free.
I open the fridge, pull out a bottle of water, and take a long drink.
I didn’t do it for praise. I did it because Nora asked—well, not exactly asked.
More like a simple trade. Except nothing about Nora is simple.
She’s chaos that pretends it isn’t chaos—bright smile, steady voice, as if everything is under control even when it clearly isn’t.
She showed up at the field beaming, probably for her mom more than for me, but I’ll take the smallest fraction of it as mine.
Every time Diane smiled, Nora smiled wider.
Of course I noticed. My brain is built for noticing.
It started the year I got my first drone.
One that shouldn’t have come back in one piece.
I’d been flying along the river after a storm, chasing footage between gusts, when it started to yaw—just a hair.
The motors sounded fine, but if you were listening carefully, there was a buzz that wasn’t supposed to be there.
I brought it down on the riverbank on instinct.
After climbing through the woods and over rocks to get to it, I noticed one motor was warmer than the rest. Another minute in the air and it would’ve seized and dropped straight into the river like a stone.
Ever since then, I don’t just watch a flight.
I read it. A tremor in a motor. A drift in a hover.
The way the drone corrects itself when the wind hits.
Tiny imbalances that mean something’s off even if nobody else can see it.
So when Diane laughed, the corners of Nora’s smile tightened.
It’s impossible not to notice Nora. Even when she isn’t trying to draw attention, she quietly beckons it.
When we finally packed up and said our goodbyes, Nora’s smile was tight at the edges, but real. She thanked me as if I’d done something extraordinary when all I did was what I love. But Nora hugged me as if it was the most important thing in the world.
I lean against the counter and stare at my phone, my thumb hovering over the messages like if I concentrate hard enough, Nora might suddenly appear there.
I sent her two texts last night. No response.
They were simple. One telling her I hoped she’d had a good day.
Another saying I hoped her mom had too. Harmless.
Normal. Maybe she was busy. Maybe she missed them.
Maybe they vanished into the void where perfectly reasonable texts go to die. Now I debate sending a third.
Miles
Your mom is amazing.
Too much. Delete.
Miles
Your mom has excellent humor.
Weird. Delete.
Miles
I’m glad you didn’t throw my controller into the woods.
I huff out a laugh. Then I pause with my thumb over send.
This is more like friendly banter than the business relationship we’ve developed.
I stare at the unsent message, then delete it.
Slowly. I set the phone face down on the counter.
Focus on the practical, Miles. I lift my phone again and type out a new message.
Miles
Maybe we can get together soon for more practice lessons before the date with my family.
The message whooshes away, and my stomach immediately ceases. We just saw each other; what if it’s too soon?
Three dots appear.
Nora
Lessons? Should I be giving you a final exam afterward?
Miles
Do you think I need a final exam?
Nora
I’m teasing. I’m free tomorrow, but can we meet at your place?
Miles
Okay. 6 p.m.?
Nora
Perfect. Text me your address.
After sending her my address, I set an alarm before shoving my phone into my pocket.
Tomorrow at six. I should start making plans for our dating lesson, but instead my mind drifts to her mom and the way her voice cracked on “I’m flying.
” I pull my phone back out. This time, I don’t open my messages. I open my notes app and add a reminder:
Research MS.
I stare at it, then add another line under it:
Ask Nora what I can do to help make her mom smile more.
The problem with Nora is she’s all sharp edges, sarcasm, and stubbornness, but underneath, she’s softer than she lets herself be.
Yesterday, just for a minute, I saw it. I lock my phone and let it rest in my palm, unsure what she’ll want to do—or what she’ll want from me—but I’m certain about what I’m going to do.
I’ll show up, offer more drone flights, and I’ll keep making her laugh, even when she tries not to.
Morning comes too fast after a sleepless night.
I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, running through what needs to be done.
First on the list: the library. Neither of them should have to handle this alone.
After a quick shower, I grab my keys and head across town with a plan already forming.
The automatic doors slide open, and I’m hit with a faint citrus cleaner scent mixed with old paper.
The soft hush of turning pages and distant footsteps on carpet is calming.
Which is good, because the second Diane’s voice pops into my head—This was my favorite day—my throat tightens like a jammed gimbal, and I swallow hard.
Maybe I could cook a meal for them or bring something more substantial than snacks to our next drone day.
In the cooking section, I pull a thick cookbook from the shelf and flip it open.
Chickpeas. Salmon. Nuts. Whole grains. I’m midway through a section titled “Simple Mediterranean Meals You Can Make in Minutes” when a familiar voice catches my attention.
“Hi, Miles.”
My shoulders tense as I glance up. Maggie stands a few feet away, a stack of books cradled in her arms, wearing a cream cardigan that makes her look like she belongs in a cozy book nook on a rainy day.
“Oh—hi,” I manage. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good. How are you?” Her gaze drops to the book in my hands. “Changing your eating habits?”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s—um—research for a friend.”
Her brows lift. “Oh. Okay.”
I nod too much. Like a bobblehead trying to prove it’s not nervous.
Maggie shifts the stack of books in her arms. “Since you’re here…” She hesitates, a flicker of softness crossing her expression that flips my stomach. “I was wondering if maybe you’d want to get dinner sometime. My Saturday is free.”
Oh. Oh no. The air thins instantly. A week ago, I would have jumped at the opportunity for a second chance. A do-over. Proof that I’m not the guy who ruins soup. But my mind doesn’t go there. It drifts to Nora and the way her eyes shine when she thinks no one’s watching.
“I—” I start, then stop, trying to find the words without making it sound like I’m walking away from a third chance. “Actually,” I say instead, opting for the least messy version of the truth, “I’m busy this weekend. A work thing.”
Maggie’s smile doesn’t fall. Not completely, but something shifts as if she opened a door expecting a room and found a hallway instead. “Oh. Okay. Well… maybe another time.”
“Maybe,” I reply, softer than I intend. “I’d like that.”
Her gaze lingers on my face, weighing whether that “maybe” is real or just polite. Then she switches gears. “Is there anything I can help you find?”
I tuck the cookbook under my arm. “Actually, yes. I’m looking for books on multiple sclerosis. I’m not sure where to start.”
Her expression changes instantly, less about dinner, more about purpose.
“Of course. Follow me.” She turns and leads me past the cookbooks and into a quieter aisle.
Stopping at a shelf, Maggie trails a finger along the spines before pulling out a few titles.
“These are medical overviews, and we also have some autobiographical books as well. If you want, I can help you find reputable resources through our database.”
“Okay,” I swallow. “I’ll let you know if I need help.”
Our fingers brush against each other as she passes me a book. It’s quick. But nothing like the other day at the RC park with Nora. I adjust the stack of books in my arms, the weight of them anchoring me.
She retreats a step. “If you need anything else, I’m at the front desk.”
“Thanks, Maggie.”
She lingers for half a second, as if she might say more, but instead offers a small smile and walks away.
I stand there between the shelves, holding a cookbook and two books about MS, and it hits me.
I came here looking for answers, but the only thing I’m certain of is that whatever is happening with Nora and Diane started as a simple deal.
A transaction. Clear terms. Defined expectations.
Only it’s rapidly becoming something I can’t categorize.
Which is… terrifying. And, if I’m being honest, it resembles flying.