Page 26 of The Flight Risk

When I come to terms that I won’t be able to fall back asleep at 5 a.m., I head downstairs slowly and tip-toe through the living room in case Oakley is still sleeping. But the sheets and blanket he’s been using are folded up neatly on one end of the couch and there are no signs of his headphones or phone. His running shoes are also gone. A mixture of relief and disappointment floods my chest.

My stomach is gurgling and I look up a recipe to make crepes. Seems simple enough. I feel really bad for walking in on him while he clearly thought he was alone. At the same time, it seems like he doesn’t mind that it happened. And he said my name in the shower. Could that mean he wants me as much as I want him? What does all this mean for our relationship?

I’ve semi-burned all the crepes I’ve made so far. I thought it was going to be like pancakes where the first one is always the bad one and never turns out right, but then the rest are golden. I’m clearly mistaken. It’s user error for sure. I’m not a cook or a baker nor do I have a domestic bone in my body. Other than the one dish I made in Telluride, a dish that my grandma taught me how to make a long time ago, I can’t cook.

Oakley walks in the door from his run. His hair is dripping with sweat, mimicking the way his hair looked in the shower yesterday. Play it cool, Tess.

“Good morning, Oakley,” I say a little too chipper. “Tu veux une crêpe?”

“Sure.” He pulls out a bar stool and sits on it. I wonder if his massive frame has ever crushed a miniscule chair like a bar stool before. “You speak French?”

I shrug. “A little. Since my dream is to go to Paris one day, once I get over my fear of flying, I figured I better learn some words and phrases that may be helpful.”

“You mentioned you were afraid of flying. Is there a reason?” Oakley shoves a forkfull of crepe in his mouth, not seeming to care that it’s semi-burned.

I nod. “I don’t really know where it stemmed from. I’ve obviously never had a traumatic experience on a plane before. I think it’s the whole trust thing. Trusting my life in someone else’s hands. Not having control.” I don’t know why, but anytime I’m with Oakley, I feel safe to truly spill about myself. That’s never happened with a guy before. I’ve never even gone that deep with Brooke before. She knows the surface level of my fears, anxieties, my toxic family experiences–and I suppose since she always supported me on the surface level of things, I didn’t find the need to really go deeper with her.

Somehow, Oakley is different.

Oakley doesn’t say anything. He slowly chews the crepe, but he can’t hide the look of disgust painted on his face. I take a bite and it’s absolutely disgusting. I’m mortified I just fed this man this inedible garbage.

“Here’s a napkin.” I hand him one and I spit into another.

He spits it out into his napkin. “It wasn’t too bad.” He attempts a reassuring smile.

“You are being too sweet. You can admit that was probably the most disgusting thing you’ve ever had. I will not be offended. I’m sorry you had to endure that.” I press my foot on the pedal at the bottom of the trash can. The lid flips open and I dump the rest of the crepes into the trash. “At this rate, I will never find a husband.”

“Is that what you want? To find a husband?”

“No!” I say almost too quickly. “Well, I don’t know, maybe. One day. I don’t know if I’m really wife material.”

“What does that mean?”

“Domestic, I guess?”

“I don’t really think guys expect you to time travel back to the 1950s.”

“You’d be surprised. That’s why I don’t normally do relationships. People have expectations and then the other person usually falls short of those expectations. The dating scene is cutthroat– I mean, I’m sure you know that yourself.”

“I actually wouldn’t know. I haven’t dated anyone since my college girlfriend back in Chicago, Molly.”

Jealousy fills my body. I don’t talk about my exes but honestly, there’s not that much to talk about. I never really had a boyfriend. Just casual hookups. But Oakley–he’s a relationship guy and he loved this girl once. Molly. Even her name sounds sweet and idyllic. Too sweet in comparison to me. Suddenly, I want to know what happened between them. Why didn’t she move with him to Dallas? Or why didn’t he stay in Chicago for her?

“Molly.” I nod and press my lips together. “She sounds lovely.”

“She was.”

That stings. I was secretly hoping he would say anything to the contrary.

Oakley covers his hand with mine. I look up at him and I fall to pieces when I gaze into his beautiful green eyes. “Look,” he says. “I’m sorry about the shower.”

“What happened in the shower?” Lottie asks, appearing out of thin air.

“Nothing!” Oakley and I both say at the same time. His hand flies off mine and he casually reaches behind me and grabs a glass he probably doesn’t need.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Lottie groggily pushes, unaware of the topic that Oakley and I were discussing. The dreaded exes.

“Well, it was. Nothing.” I snap back, hangriness and the fact that it’s way too early for me to be up on a Sunday morning, fueling the tone in my response. I may or may not be a little upset that Oakley and I couldn’t delve deeper into the whole Molly thing right now. “How about we all go out for breakfast this morning before you and I go wedding dress shopping with Brooke?”