Love on Landing by Heather Thurmeier Page A

incomplete. Then there were other drawings that were full page, detailed pieces of art. She knew she should probably take them out of the sketchbook and put them somewhere safer where there wasn't a chance for them to get wrecked, but there was something comforting about having them near her. And even when she didn't have time to draw something new, she still enjoyed looking over her previous work.
    She stopped flipping as she came to a page she'd done the other day on her flight to Paris—a picture of a man down on one knee holding her hand and gazing at her with more love in his eyes than she'd ever seen in real life. The day she'd drawn this was the day she'd found out Roger was getting married and her own hope for the future had been crushed. She dreamed of getting married to a wonderful man one day, but with every stinky relationship, or lack of relationship, her dream seemed to move further and further out of the realm of possibilities.
    Tali scowled as she examined the would-be groom's face. She hadn't purposely been sketching anyone in particular. She had only been trying to pass the time. But now that she really looked at what she'd drawn, it was obvious—the man in her sketch was Gavin. She'd started this drawing after her encounter with him in the cockpit and he must have still been on her mind. There was no mistaking his telltale five o'clock shadow.
    Damn it. Of course, she had to have a crush on the guy who was a total jerk to her all the time. Just a glutton for punishment, aren't you?
    She traced the lines of the drawing, remembering what it was like when she'd run her fingers down his chest. She could still feel his warm flesh under her fingertips. She could see his dark eyes gazing at her hungrily, reflecting her own need. That handsome face of his—ugh, she'd slapped that handsome face.
    Why had she slapped him? Why had she told him off and walked away from him?
    Because he'd been a jerk.
    True. But he'd also been right.
    And what had she done in response? She'd run away from the truth, sulking like a spoiled brat. Tali looked down at her designer boots, her designer handbag still sitting on the chair next to her—her wrists adorned with baubles and sparkly trinkets. She cringed.
    She forced herself to think about going back to the States and sitting in a stuffy boardroom with her father, listening to him chatter on about facts and figures and pointing at graphs on the wall. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She could almost smell the coffee and donuts in the air as she imagined being forced to sit for hours in the meetings she cared nothing about.
    Gavin was right. She would never be happy doing something she felt forced to do. She'd never learn to love the boardroom like her father did. But what could she do about it? Her father needed someone to take over the business one day and that someone was supposed to be her. What would happen if she said no?
    What would happen if she said yes? Would her father really want her to run his company, if she hated working there? Wouldn't he want someone who loved the job to run the company he'd created and poured his blood, sweat and tears into for years?
    Wouldn't her father ultimately want her to be happy?
    Tali sighed and glanced back down to the sketchbook still open in her lap. She wasn't sure she knew the answers, but she had to hope her father would want her to be happy regardless of whether or not she took over for him.
    She flipped to a clean page and slipped the charcoal pencil out of the sleeve. She began sketching the scene of the terrace restaurant—the tables and chairs, the ivy climbing the walls and the city backdrop. Instantly the feeling of dread twisting in her stomach disappeared. A feeling of calm seeped in as if she were completely submersed in a tranquil pool.
    She added in another detail to her sketch—a man, leaning on the edge of the stone railing bordering the terrace. Not just any man. Gavin.
    My Gavin.
    Closing the sketchbook and