can do this.
As soon as I have the door in the almost-closed position, Ryan leans hard over my lap and reefs on it.
God, he smells good.
Shut up. Keep it together.
The door clicks. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“See? Piece of cake. And you didn’t fall out.”
“If I’d known the supply flight was a stare-down with death, I might have taken the regular charter.”
“Nah, this is way more fun. And this time of year, we’re getting a lot of older folks coming up, so the charter ends up smelling like old-lady perfume. Plus, no drinkie-poos.” He reaches into the duffel and offers me a bottle. “You earned it.”
I don’t hesitate. My heart thuds hard enough against the inside of my chest from this latest near-death experience. I do deserve it.
But I was so brave, wasn’t I? Leaning out of an airplane to shut the door?
I feel strong again. Like I did when I told Keith and the Yorkies to pack it up.
I suppose I should be feeling some sort of sadness about my loss of that relationship. Do I?
I don’t think I do.
Except for the rapid inhale/exhale going on in my chest. The twinkly stars in my peripheral vision. Ryan hands me one of those paper bags. “Breathe in and out. No hyperventilating on Miss Lily.”
“You have … a lot … of stupid rules … on this plane.” I breathe into the bag, and while I know this is a myth—rebreathing your exhaled air does not remedy hyperventilation—I need to calm my shit down.
“Tell me about your otters.”
“Um, they’re cute.” Inhale. “And fluffy.” Exhale.
“And?”
“And they take care of their babies.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know … I saw one when I was at the beach when I was little, and I fell in love.”
“And?”
“And the older they get, the blonder the hair on their head is.”
“Now that’s interesting stuff.”
His strategy worked. I’m not hungry for air anymore. I can breathe again.
“I do hope we can find you some otters while you’re here. Things should be pretty quiet. A business conference this week wrapping up with a small golf tournament. Do you golf?”
“The planet has asked me not to. I do too much damage to the greens. And the trees. They weep for days after I’ve manhandled a nine-iron.”
“You can take a lesson. Or maybe a kayak class? You can kayak between our island and the next one over. Do you swim?”
“How cold is that water?”
“Like, from a glacier.”
“Then, no. I don’t swim.”
Ryan laughs at me again. “You don’t sound very outdoorsy for someone who likes otters.”
“I don’t like freezing my nips off, either.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret it. I’ve totally just opened up the can of worms for him to dig in and bait up.
“Speaking of … how are the girls?” He gestures to his chest. “All healed from the nachos?”
“Shit, I can’t believe I told you that.” My turn to laugh. “Yeah … they’re fine, Concierge Ryan. My nipples will live to see another day.”
“The single men of the world are grateful.”
I can’t even look at him but then I do and we start laughing and yes my nipples were singed but I survived and now a total stranger knows my weirdest secret and I really need to talk less openly with people I’ve never met in real life.
“See that up there?”
I sit a little straighter, trying to make myself taller than the plane’s dash. Up ahead are lights. Lots of them. “That’s where we’re going?”
He nods and shuts off his mic to me so he can communicate with the other voice in his ear. We pass over the resort and circle back, so I’m given a 360 view of the resort and surrounding island. It’s far bigger than I expected, a full eighteen-hole golf course along the western side, the greens lit by lanterns that sparkle in the distance. The lodge itself is huge, not at all a wee, quaint little lodge with a dozen or so cozy rooms. This is full-on luxury. I count four chimneys extending from various pitches of the
As soon as I have the door in the almost-closed position, Ryan leans hard over my lap and reefs on it.
God, he smells good.
Shut up. Keep it together.
The door clicks. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“See? Piece of cake. And you didn’t fall out.”
“If I’d known the supply flight was a stare-down with death, I might have taken the regular charter.”
“Nah, this is way more fun. And this time of year, we’re getting a lot of older folks coming up, so the charter ends up smelling like old-lady perfume. Plus, no drinkie-poos.” He reaches into the duffel and offers me a bottle. “You earned it.”
I don’t hesitate. My heart thuds hard enough against the inside of my chest from this latest near-death experience. I do deserve it.
But I was so brave, wasn’t I? Leaning out of an airplane to shut the door?
I feel strong again. Like I did when I told Keith and the Yorkies to pack it up.
I suppose I should be feeling some sort of sadness about my loss of that relationship. Do I?
I don’t think I do.
Except for the rapid inhale/exhale going on in my chest. The twinkly stars in my peripheral vision. Ryan hands me one of those paper bags. “Breathe in and out. No hyperventilating on Miss Lily.”
“You have … a lot … of stupid rules … on this plane.” I breathe into the bag, and while I know this is a myth—rebreathing your exhaled air does not remedy hyperventilation—I need to calm my shit down.
“Tell me about your otters.”
“Um, they’re cute.” Inhale. “And fluffy.” Exhale.
“And?”
“And they take care of their babies.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know … I saw one when I was at the beach when I was little, and I fell in love.”
“And?”
“And the older they get, the blonder the hair on their head is.”
“Now that’s interesting stuff.”
His strategy worked. I’m not hungry for air anymore. I can breathe again.
“I do hope we can find you some otters while you’re here. Things should be pretty quiet. A business conference this week wrapping up with a small golf tournament. Do you golf?”
“The planet has asked me not to. I do too much damage to the greens. And the trees. They weep for days after I’ve manhandled a nine-iron.”
“You can take a lesson. Or maybe a kayak class? You can kayak between our island and the next one over. Do you swim?”
“How cold is that water?”
“Like, from a glacier.”
“Then, no. I don’t swim.”
Ryan laughs at me again. “You don’t sound very outdoorsy for someone who likes otters.”
“I don’t like freezing my nips off, either.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret it. I’ve totally just opened up the can of worms for him to dig in and bait up.
“Speaking of … how are the girls?” He gestures to his chest. “All healed from the nachos?”
“Shit, I can’t believe I told you that.” My turn to laugh. “Yeah … they’re fine, Concierge Ryan. My nipples will live to see another day.”
“The single men of the world are grateful.”
I can’t even look at him but then I do and we start laughing and yes my nipples were singed but I survived and now a total stranger knows my weirdest secret and I really need to talk less openly with people I’ve never met in real life.
“See that up there?”
I sit a little straighter, trying to make myself taller than the plane’s dash. Up ahead are lights. Lots of them. “That’s where we’re going?”
He nods and shuts off his mic to me so he can communicate with the other voice in his ear. We pass over the resort and circle back, so I’m given a 360 view of the resort and surrounding island. It’s far bigger than I expected, a full eighteen-hole golf course along the western side, the greens lit by lanterns that sparkle in the distance. The lodge itself is huge, not at all a wee, quaint little lodge with a dozen or so cozy rooms. This is full-on luxury. I count four chimneys extending from various pitches of the
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