Chapter 10 Business Tripping #2
The interior holds a row of bench seating along one side and four single seats surrounding a polished wood table on the other.
The white stitched leather is soft under my fingertips as I pass, marveling at the finery.
At the back of the plane, past the bathroom and through a partially opened door, is what looks like a private room with a bed.
Doing my best to ignore the luxurious intimacy of it all, I choose a window seat; Noah settles into the one facing mine.
He crosses one leg over the other at the ankle, and peeks out the curtained window.
“Not a bad day for a flight.”
“Oh, isn’t it?” I mock, still shocked at how painless this has all been. “Even if the rest of the flight was miserable, it would still beat any other flying experience.”
He chuckles. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I usually am.”
His chuckle deepens as he pulls his phone out again, his fingers tapping against the screen in rapid succession. I don’t ask, but he explains without looking up.
“My mom. She always gets nervous when I fly. And of course she’s wondering when I’ll have time to stop by.”
“She lives in Pala?”
“No, about an hour west. But it’s exactly her style to expect a visit, despite the drive.”
I chew on my lip, wondering if it’s polite to ask about his relationship with his mom. I know if I ask, he’ll surely return the volley of conversation, and I don’t know I want to share those details. The awkwardness of what feels like intentional silence bids me to ask anyway.
“Are the two of you close?”
Noah places his phone into the cup holder on his seat. “We are. More so than any of my friends and their moms, anyway. Though mine wasn’t day drinking and coasting on double doses of Valium like theirs were.”
I tug at my shirt, shifting in my seat. My palms grow damp at his thoughtless joke.
Mine were the types of parents who were day drinking and double dosing medications.
Though, they certainly weren’t rich housewives coasting on Valium or Adderall.
It was more often a rudimentary cocktail of whatever they could find.
Memories of the bad habits and the neglect they fostered churn in my belly, my mouth dry as a sandpit and I wish I hadn’t dumped the remnants of my coffee before boarding.
My hope that he won't return the line of questioning is rewarded when he doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort and continues his musings about his mother.
“When she wasn’t onsite for a film, she’d be there when I got home from school, and she always made sure to host the most extravagant end of the school year bash.” He chuckles. “That’s probably where my taste for the best of things started.”
I smile, remembering the way Nan always made sure to have brownies and lemonade for me on the last day of school.
Even after I dropped out and worked full time at the diner, she’d whip them up just as the other kids were getting out for summer break.
I clear my throat and reach for a scrap of what Noah mentioned.
“On site?”
“Yeah, she is . . . was, an actress. She’s been retired for a few years now.”
“Would I have seen her in anything?”
He blushes. “Probably. Her most famous film is Love Without Fear.”
My jaw drops open. “Your mom is Vivian Graves?”
Noah’s sheepish grin grows. “Yes.”
“She’s like . . .”
My voice trails off as all the little details I’ve been collecting about Noah start to take on new weight.
Vivian Graves is Hollywood royalty. I’m sitting on a private jet with Vivian Graves’ son. Releasing an astonished breath, I shake my head and focus on the window.
“You are something else, Graves.”
“What about your family? I take it by your reaction, you don’t have any secret famous relatives?”
My stomach twists and I recite the rehearsed answer I keep on deck for anyone who asks.
“Parents are dead, not that they were around much. But I have Nan. She’s my family.”
“Your grandmother sounds lovely.”
I snort. “She’d kick you in the shin if she heard you say that. And she’s not my grandmother. Not by blood, anyway. She was my childhood neighbor and she took pity on me. She didn’t have kids, and I didn’t really have parents. I owe her everything.”
Noah smiles, his eyes twinkling with the sincerity I’ve seen before. “Then I’m glad you found each other.”
Phillip comes by with another tray, this time with some snacks, and lets us know they’ll be preparing to take off soon.
“Is there anything I can get you before we’re in the air?”
“I’m all set,” I say, reaching for my seatbelt. The buckle is tight and I struggle to slide it along the cloth strap.
“Here, let me,” Noah says, leaning over to help.
His hands brush over the top of mine, and I suck in a breath.
The juniper scent I noticed that day in the elevator wafts up from his hair as he works the belt looser with expert patience.
I press my head against the support and stare at the ceiling, holding my breath until he’s done.
The light click of the belt locking into place sends my heart rate up, as does Noah’s hand brushing my thigh as he pushes back into his own seat.
“Thanks,” I squeak, my lungs aching for air.
“No problem. I know they can be kind of tricky,” he says, clicking his own into place.
Tricky, indeed.
The plane rolling down the runway keeps my gaze locked on the window as I work to steady my breath and lower my heart rate.
God dammit this is going to be a long trip.
I grip the arm rests as the plane lifts, loving the way my stomach drops with the motion.
I haven’t flown in years, but take off and landing are always my favorite parts.
“What did you tell your mom?” I ask, as the clouds close in around us and we ascend higher.
Noah looks at me with a frown creasing his brow, his head cocked in confusion.
“When she asked about making time for a visit?”
“Oh.” He laughs. “I told her I would see what I could do. I mentioned that our itinerary is pretty tight and I didn’t know if we’d have time for the drive.”
“We?”
He laughs again. “You were also invited. As soon as I mentioned I wasn’t alone on the trip, she extended a warm welcome to you.”
I clasp my hands up by my shoulder and bat my lashes. “You’ve told your mom about me? I’m flattered.”
In a beat, he blinks and responds, his words pulling an electric current up my spine. “You should be. You’re worth mentioning. Not everyone is.”
My brain short circuits, trying to figure out how to respond to his compliment. I’m not usually left speechless, but something about Noah and the way he balances the sincerity of his compliments sends me off the deep end. Every. Damn. Time.
“Well, as long as she doesn’t have any stairs for me to throw myself down.”
Our laughter breaks the tension, but only just. Phillip comes by at the perfect moment, toting another tray of champagne flutes.
“Phillip, my man,” I say, a little too loudly.
He chuckles and leans over so I can take one of the glasses.
“Do you have any orange juice for this? It is a tad early for straight booze. I’ll feel so much better if I can call it a mimosa.”
He nods and turns to Noah.
“Would you also like some orange juice, Mr. Graves?”
Noah shakes his head and takes his flute, sipping on it lightly. I cock an eyebrow.
“I am shocked.”
Another confused frown passes over his features, and I find myself wanting to pinch his cheeks and smooth the wrinkle between his brow with my thumb. I settle, instead, for explaining. “I would not take you for the champagne in the morning type.”
Phillip returns with a small glass of orange juice and leaves it on the narrow table to my left. I mix the cocktail, tasting it to make sure it isn’t too sweet.
“And what type,” Noah starts, amusement thick in his tone, “do you take me for?”
“I mentioned it last week. The fitness model, zero trans fats, pretty boy. I just can’t see alcohol fitting into that lifestyle. Except for the occasional photo op, of course.”
“Mmm, of course,” he says, with an exaggerated nod. “But you forget, I was drinking the night we met.”
“True,” I say. “But you’ve since confirmed you weren’t yourself that night, so that’s a wash in my book.”
“Well, I’m no fitness model. I do strive for excellence in my training, which I do five days a week, but I don’t put myself out there like that. I just like setting goals and achieving them.”
I get the distinct feeling that what I intended to be light hearted teasing is taking a turn into cutting deeper, so I soften and offer a warm smile. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Mmm.” I say, sipping from my flute. “I stalked your Instagram the day of my god awful presentation.”
His face is overcome with a smug grin and I roll my eyes.
“I’m flattered,” he chimes.
“Don’t be. It was a whim of curiosity.”
“I may have told my mom about you, but you googled me.”
“I did not! You popped up as a suggested follow. Which is creepy, by the way. Those algorithms know more than we give them credit for. It’s like it knew we were in the same building. I’m sure I’ll be getting targeted ads for airplane pillows as soon as we land.”
“Stop trying to change the subject.”
“What subject? You? Damn, Graves, I didn’t take you for the self-centered kind.”
“What kind do you take me for, then?”
His persistence is admirable. I hesitate, swirling my drink. There are two ways I could spin this. I could shrug and play it cool, offering some off the cuff joke to lighten the building tension. Or, I could answer honestly. On a whim, I choose the latter.
“I think you’re the type who people make assumptions about.
I think that while you look like you could be on the cover of Men’s Daily, your feet are planted firmly on the ground.
You have a large group of friends, but from what I saw you’re not all that close with most of them.
You care about what you’re doing at Flourish and coming to Portland was a way for you to establish some independence and strive for the next level of, how did you put it? Excellence.”
I tip my flute back and finish the rest of the cocktail, preferring the taste of it over the complete honesty I just served. Noah stares with an unreadable expression before he nods and turns back to the window.
“Damn, Wilde. I think I underestimated you.”
“Your mistake.”
He hums his agreement, and though I wish for another glass of champagne, I don’t dare call for Phillip to interrupt us again.