Falling Between the Notes (Nicholas Galitzine)

Chapter 62: The Flight to Georgia

Jade's POV

The terminal smelled like espresso and jet fuel—exactly the kind of chaos I'd learned to move through without breaking stride. My sunglasses hid most of my face, though the early-morning crowd barely looked up; everyone at 6:00 a.m. just wanted coffee and a gate number.

"Gate B27," one of my bodyguards said, keeping pace beside me. The other rolled my carry-on behind us, weaving through clusters of travelers in sweatpants and neck pillows.

"Forty minutes till boarding," I murmured, checking my phone. My heart gave that quick, ridiculous skip it always did when I thought about him.

Three months.

Three months of FaceTimes that ended too soon, of text messages that never felt enough. Of waking up to an empty pillow where he should've been.

Nick's been filming in Georgia since February, some indie drama that decided small towns and humidity made better art than sleep. I'd promised him I'd visit when my schedule calmed down, but tours don't end quietly. There was always another interview, another shoot, another appearance. Until this weekend. Two days off for him. A rare free weekend for me.

So I was doing it—just showing up. No warning. No assistant to call ahead. Just me, a boarding pass, and a heart that hadn't stopped racing since last night.

The automatic doors whooshed open, and a wave of crisp air hit my face. Outside the windows, dawn stretched gold across the runway. Georgia was only a short flight away, but it felt like the longest distance I'd ever tried to cross.

"Everything good, Miss Collins?" one of the guards asked, glancing over.

I smiled faintly. "Yeah. Everything's good."

Except for the tiny knot of unease curling in my stomach—the one memory that always seemed to find its way back in moments like this.

Paris.

Three years ago. Same excitement, same rush, same stupid butterflies as I'd snuck through a hotel hallway, ready to surprise him after weeks apart. Only, I'd opened that door to something else. The look on his face. The woman's laugh that still rang sometimes in the back of my mind.

I shook my head, forcing the thought away. That was then. We weren't those people anymore.

The past was a scar, not an open wound.

I pressed a hand to my chest, steadying the pulse beneath my palm, and exhaled slowly. "Not this time," I whispered to myself.

The gate attendant called for boarding. My guards flanked me as we joined the short priority line, and I tugged down my hoodie just enough to hide the grin threatening to give me away.

In less than three hours, I'd see him.
And for once, I didn't want to rehearse what I'd say or how I'd act.
I just wanted to look at him. To feel him.
To finally be there.

The flight was calm, just the quiet hum of the engines and the soft clink of ice in plastic cups. I watched clouds stretch like cotton below, Georgia sunlight already bleeding through the window. My nerves hummed right along with it—steady, constant, impossible to ignore.

When the plane touched down at 9:30, my phone buzzed back to life with messages I didn't bother to open. Not now. I was here for one reason.

Outside baggage claim, a sleek black SUV idled by the curb. My guards took point immediately, one opening the door while the other loaded my small carry-on into the back. The warm, muggy air of Atlanta hit like a memory.

I slid into the backseat and pulled my phone from my pocket. Scott picked up before the first ring finished.
"Morning," I said, unable to hide the smile in my voice.
"Morning yourself," he replied, his tone bright but careful. "You made it?"
"Just landed. On the way to set now."
"Good. I'll be at the gate waiting for you." There was a pause—his version of coded reassurance. "He has no idea?"
"Not a clue," I said, leaning back against the seat.
Scott chuckled softly. "Then this'll be fun. See you soon, Jade."
"See you soon."