The plane around us shakes as we pass through whatever causes turbulence, and my heart hops into my throat.
Landing is always the worst part.
“I got you.” Dom’s voice draws my eyes to his mouth, and then movement lower brings them down to his hand, palm up, fingers spread, on the armrest between us.
We’ve held hands. We’ve leaned against each other. We’ve brushed our bodies past each other. But it’s always been him reaching for me, him pulling me in.
I’ve never gone to him.
But I want to.
I slip my arm out from under his jacket and slowly, gently, set my palm against his.
I twist my hand until my outstretched fingers are lined up with Dom’s. His hand is so much larger, his palm bigger than mine on all sides. His fingers are so much longer that when he flexes the top knuckle, his fingertips curl over mine.
They’re strong hands.
They’re warm. And I can feel the rough calluses that run along the base of his fingers. A contrast to my soft hands.
The plane dips with a rattle.
I twist my palm, and when I start to curl my fingers between his, he does the same.
And it’s the best thing I’ve felt in a while.
With nothing else to say, I relax against the backrest and focus on Dominic’s thumb as it rubs small circles on the back of my hand. Turbulence forgotten.
The seat belt light chimes off and is followed by the mass clicking of everyone on the plane unbuckling.
Following suit, I undo my belt and scoot forward on my seat until I can reach down and pick up my bag.
Dom has respected my need for quiet between us but breaks that truce when he grabs hold of my backpack strap.
I put up a minor fight, but he uses his free hand to pry my fingers off the strap. “I’ll carry it.”
I smooth my hands over his jacket that’s resting in my lap. “Pretty sure security will have a problem with you walking all the way down to baggage claim.”
Dom angles toward me to give himself space, then slings my bag over his shoulder. “Then I’ll carry it until our paths part.”
The crew opens the main door, and the first row of people starts to exit the plane.
Until our paths part.
When the aisle clears, Dom stands and shifts out of our row. Then he gestures for me to go ahead of him.
I do my best to look graceful as I shuffle out, and he manages to snag his jacket out of my hands so I’m left carrying nothing.
When I turn my back to Dom, standing at my full height, fingers brush against my ponytail, and he chuckles, “Shorty.”
Teasing.
Stick with the teasing so you can keep smiling when your paths part.
I say thank you to the attendants, then take that last step off the plane and onto the Jetway.
It’s evening, and the end-of-September air breezes up through the small gap, cooling my overheated nerves.
The trees will start to change in a few weeks, and I can’t help but picture going on a fall-themed date with Dom. Complete with apple cider and scarves and curling up in front of a fireplace.
I blink.
Stay in the present, Val.
Dom walks behind me until we get to the top of the ramp and step into the Minneapolis airport. Then he moves to my side and matches his steps to mine.
The movement of his hands draws my attention, and my brows knit together when I look down at what he’s doing.
Dom has rolled up his fancy suit jacket inside out so the blue silk interior is the only part showing. And he’s shaped it like… like a giant burrito.
Dom tucks the bundle into the crook of his arm and presses his free hand against my lower back. “This way.”
I look at the jacket and gape because it looks like he’s holding a baby.
Sweet Mariah Carey. Could you imagine?
And then I look up at what’s in front of us. What he’s steering us toward.
I glance back down at the fake baby bundle, then up at the bright white free-standing lactation room situated along the wall in the main hallway.
“Dominic,” I sort of hiss.
“We’ll go in here, Mama.” Dom doesn’t keep his voice down. And the way he says “Mama” sounds different this time. Like he’s saying it as a title, not a pet name.
As if he timed it, the door to the pod swings open, and a woman with a baby strapped to her chest steps out.
Dominic stretches his free arm out, catching the door and holding it open for her so she can get her luggage out.
“Thank you.” She beams up at Dom, not even sparing a look at his infant.
And because my lust is stronger than my decency, I let Dom nod me forward into the lactation pod.