"We should go to Italy together," I shouted in Miles's ear between two verses of Lady On Street.
He took off his earpiece. "Italy?"
I nodded. He smiled and kissed my cheek before going back to his mic to sing his part. I mistook that for a yes so when only days before my departure he told me he actually couldn't make it, I was understandably angry.
"What do you have that is more important than me?" I growled into his chest. I hated airports. They stretched goodbyes to unbearable length.
"Don't be stupid. It's not more important than you. It's just something I've got to do." He chuckled.
"I hate you."
"Try adding 'for now '," he quoted an Instagram post I has shared with him the night before.
"I'm not gonna miss you." I wiggled my way out of his arms. "I'm not even going to think about you."
"Keep this up and I might tie you up and not let you leave altogether."
"First of all, red flag. Second of all, you think you can keep me here against my will?" I smirked.
"Who said it's gonna be against your will? I have some tricks up my sleeve."
Before I could ask what, my flight was announced.
"Be miserable without me," I said instead of goodbye.
"Will do." He kissed my lips softly.
From the top of the stairs, Miles looked like he was in a photoshoot. He had one hand in the pocket of his black dress pants. He was fiddling with his rings reminding me of a shy bad boy only missing a leather jacket. It was still hot for that in the mid-autumn weather of California. Of course, he wouldn't believe me when I said I hated him. Even I could see my heart-eyes when I looked at him. He scratched his nose before looking up and catching my gaze on him. He stood up straight and waved then sent me a kiss.
Several minutes after the takeoff, my heart was still racing. Was it a plane thing or a boy thing, making it go crazy?
"What would you like to drink?" A flight attendant asked me.
"Tiffany," I read her name badge, "what a lovely name!"
"Thank you," she smiled formally. She was so beautiful. Deep blue eyes much like the ocean we were flying over.
"Oh, right, drinks!" I pretended to think. "Um, the word just flew off my mind. It's pink and it's wine, what's it called?"
"Rosé!" Tiffany guessed.
"Yes. Wow, it's like you can read my mind!" I praised.
She smiled less formally.
I coughed and broke eye contact. "Um, yes, rosé would be... yeah, thanks..."
"Anything else?" Tiffany asked after giving me a small pink bottle.
"No, thank you," I said, "you've been very helpful."
"My pleasure." She left.
"Are you kidding me?" Dahlia elbowed me.
"Hey, that hurts!"
"Stop flirting with the flight attendant, pervert."
"I'm not! I'm just being polite," I explained.
"Miles likes rosè, too," I murmured to myself but Miriam heard me.
"Jesus, shut up!" She said, "we've been on this plane for fifteen minutes and it's the hundredth time you've said Miles."
