He chuckles, then tosses the rag onto the wing before turning fully to me. “You’re tough.”
“Someone has to be.” I walk closer, the hum of the cooling engine vibrating beneath my boots. “You were a little wide on that last turn.”
“I knew you’d call me on it.” He leans back against the plane and crosses his arms over his chest. “Figured I’d give you something to critique.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “You don’t have to push it so hard every time, Ash.”
His smirk fades as something softer settles on his features. “I’m not doing it for the critiques.”
I open my mouth to fire back, but the words catch when he reaches out, his fingers brushing mine before he tugs me just alittle closer—out of the open tarmac and into the shadow of the hangar.
The air feels fresh here—quieter, heavier, charged.
“You worry too much,” he murmurs, his thumb sweeping over my knuckles.
“Someone has to,” I whisper back, though my voice barely holds its usual edge.
He leans in just enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my temple. “You’re allowed to take a breath, Amelia. Not everything has to rest on your shoulders.”
The knot in my chest twists tighter, that ridiculous flutter back in full force. “If I take a breath, this whole thing falls apart.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he whispers. “Because I’m right here.”
I didn’t realize how close we’d gotten until I feel his hand slip to my waist, grounding me in that infuriatingly gentle way he always does when he wants me to slow down. The hangar blocks most of the light now, leaving just enough to see the quiet determination in his eyes.
My walls slip, just for a second.
“God, you’re annoying,” I mutter, but it comes out softer than I intended.
He grins. “You love it.”
I do—way more than I should—and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say those three words to him, but I hold back.
Before I can think better of it, I rise onto my toes, pressing my lips to his. It was supposed to be quick—just a thank you, a fleeting moment—but Ash never plays by the rules. His hand slides up to cup my cheek, and he deepens the kiss until my clipboard practically slips from my hand.
“Come to dinner with me, Amelia,” I say with a wicked grin. She still has flushed cheeks from our kiss, and her fingers hover near her lips as if she can still feel me there. She looks up through dark lashes, her sharp, commanding edge dulled by that soft pink coloring her cheeks.
“Dinner?” she echoes, like the idea caught her off guard.
I shove my hands into my pockets. “Yeah, you know… food, a table, the two of us. And before you say it—yes, out in public. The team knows about us now, Amelia. We don’t have to hide anymore.”
For a beat, she hesitates—because that’s who she is. Always weighing options, always looking for the safest route. But then, something shifts in her. Her shoulders drop, the tension bleeds out, and that guarded expression finally breaks into a soft, genuine smile.
“Okay,” she whispers, her eyes shining. “Dinner.”
The place I picked isn’t anything fancy—just this little rooftop spot overlooking the water, strung up with fairy lights and a view that stretches out into the night. It is quiet. Private. A place where I can actually see her without all the noise of the team or the rush of the flight line.
Amelia sits across from me, still flushed from the kiss earlier but now calmer, more settled. Her hair is down, brushing against her collarbone as she scans the menu, but I barely glance at mine. When focused, she bites her bottom lip, which seriously distracts me.
“You’re staring,” she mutters, not looking up.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning into the table, “and?”
Her eyes lift to me then, her smile spreading, but there is a softness there I haven’t seen before. One that doesn’t come with all the usual walls she keeps between us and the rest of the world.
Dinner flows easily. We talk about the next few shows, the ridiculous bets Noah and Knox are cooking up for the next flight competition, and somehow, I end up telling her about my first time flying solo, how my dad stood at the end of the runway, more nervous than I was. She laughs, really laughs, and it hits me right in the chest.
We clear our plates; the sky has darkened, and the lights around us cast a soft golden glow on her face. She is stirring the last of her drink with her straw when it happens—when the words get too loud in my head to hold back.
