I laugh, the tension finally breaking. “Duly noted.”
He cracks a smile then, the big-brother energy softening. “You two are terrible at hiding it, by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah, so I’m starting to see,” I mutter, grabbing another plate.
I can’t help but smile.
Noah tosses the dish towel onto the counter, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a knowing smirk. “Well, I’m heading out. I’ll see you two on Monday.”
The emphasis ontwois not subtle.
Before I can fire back with some snarky reply, the back door slides open again, and Ash steps inside, his dark hair still damp from where someone splashed him with water balloons earlier—Nesta’s idea, obviously. His eyes dart between Noah and me, immediately picking up on whatever tension still lingers in the air.
“Everything good?” Ash asks, his brows lifting slightly as he crosses the kitchen.
Noah’s smirk only deepens as he claps Ash on the shoulder. “All good, man. Just making sure the boss here knows what’s what.”
Ash narrows his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching, clearly trying to read between the lines. “Uh-huh.”
Noah is already backing toward the door, his hand raised in a lazy wave. “Later, lovebirds.”
“Real subtle,” I call after him, but he just laughs, disappearing out the door.
The silence that follows stretches for a beat before Ash steps closer, cocking his head at me. “Should I be worried about what he said?”
I lean back against the counter, my arms crossed, but I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “He was doing the best-friend thing. Making sure I’m not secretly plotting to break your heart.”
Ash’s mouth curves into that slow, crooked grin—the one that always wrecks me. “And? Are you?”
I roll my eyes, but my voice softens. “No. Not even close.”
He moves in then, closing the space between us, his hand brushing my hip before settling there like it belongs. “Good. ’Cause I’m kinda all in here.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my heart tripping over itself. “Me too.”
And then he kisses me, slow and certain, like he already knew.
The low hum of the engines vibrates through the cockpit as we level out into formation, the bright sprawl of the Miami Speedway stretching. The Florida sun is brutal, a molten glare bouncing off the metal wings around me, but all I can focus on is the steady beat of my pulse in my ears.
“Team, check in. Final approach.” Amelia’s voice crackles through my headset—calm, clipped, pure command.
“Lead’s in position,” I answer, my fingers flexing over the control stick. The hum of the engines mixes with the rising swell of the crowd below—thousands of people packed into the stands, their cheers like a faint storm cloud hovering beneath us.
Knox chimes in next, his usual cool confidence bleeding through the comms. “Two locked in.”
“Three and four holding steady,” comes Noah’s voice, followed by Nathan’s.
I can almost picture Amelia down there on the ground, headset on, one hand probably resting on her hip, sunglasses cutting the sun as she tracks our flight path with brutal precision.
“Copy that,” she replies. “You’re two clicks out. National anthem starts at thirty. Remember, we hit the last pass at the last note—smoke on tight formation.”
I grin, one that I don’t even bother to hide. “We got this, boss.”
“Don’t make me regret this, Ash,” she shoots back, but there is a slight softness in her tone. The thing only I’d notice.
The first haunting notes of the anthem float through the comms—slow, powerful—and my stomach does that familiar flip. This is the moment. Every show, every city, it still hits the same.
“On my mark.” Amelia’s voice filters in, calm. “Three… two… one… smoke on.”
