When I come out, Logan’s talking to our instructors. I wouldn’t have noticed anything weird about the interaction, except that they all smile, Seth shakes his hand, and Mike pats him on the shoulder, then they clam up as soon as they see me. Odd.
“Ready?” Logan asks me.
“Scared to death, actually,” I say. “But ready as I’ll ever be.”
He puts an arm around me and hugs me to him. “You’ve wanted to do this forever. You’ve got this.”
I nod and smile at him, grateful that he’s his normal self today. I’ve missed him, I realize. Missed our easy friendship. I squeeze his side, then Tamara, Dean, Logan, and I follow the instructors and the videographer Logan is paying extra to film my jump into the twin engine, jet-prop airplane. The propellers spin, making a whole lot of noise, and the smell of fuel makes me hold my breath.
The flight up is uneventful . . . if you call being petrified about the possibility of free falling for hundreds of feet while hoping a large piece of fabric will keep you from slamming into the ground at one hundred miles per hour uneventful.
And then we’re at jumping altitude, or whatever the video called it. Most of the thoughtful, thorough safety training dribbled out of my head on the way up here, along with any sense of security I usually possess. Terror takes its place when the instructors tell us it’s time.
Dean high fives me from his seat on the other side of Tamara, and my sister hugs me.
“Happy thirtieth birthday, Stevie. I hope this is your best year ever.” She glances at Logan, and her eyes sparkle in a mischievous way. His face gives nothing away.
We stand so the instructors can attach the tandem harnesses to each of us, and then Logan and I hold on to metal grips on the sides of the airplane and watch as first Tamara, brave soul, and then Dean jump with their instructors. Tam half screams and half laughs as she falls out of the side of the plane, and Dean hoots as he goes.
I need to pee—again.
“We’re up, Stevie,” Seth says from behind me. I realize in a vague way that he’s completely calm and confident despite my abject terror. Or probably because of it. “But Logan has something he wants to give you before we jump.”
We’re already attached through the harness, so I have trouble peering around at Logan to see what Seth could possibly mean. Did I mishear him?
Logan swims into view beside me, hands me a folded piece of paper, and kisses me—full on the lips. I don’t have time to ask him what he’s doing, or even to think, because Seth hustles me up to the open door. The videographer jumps out first, ready to film us.
The wind rushing by almost rips the paper from my hand, but I have a moment to open and read the note, written in Logan’s neat print, before Seth hauls himself and me into the rushing, ethereal, glittering blue sky.
My already pounding heart and sweaty palms hit overdrive. Because, to my absolute astonishment, the note that’s now crumpled in my fist says:
I’ve loved you since I met you, Stevie Watson.
Be mine.
Chapter Twenty
Logan
I don’t know that much about skydiving, but I’m convinced that this is the longest free-fall in history. Or maybe it only feels that way.
Mike and I cut through the air like tethered asteroids. My stomach stays somewhere overhead as the wind rushes past my ears. The ground grows alarmingly nearer and more detailed with every passing second. Not to be overly dramatic, but I feel closer to dying than I ever have, with the possible exception of when my bike brakes went out on a steep hill one time in my teens.
I’m not ready to die.
I want to really kiss Stevie. I want to make love to her. I want her by my side as we go through life, and now, I’ve pretty much told her so.
As I’m starting to wonder how much farther we’ll fall and if something’s gone wrong with the parachute, Mike deploys the canopy. With a startling jerk, we stop falling and start floating. I take a long breath and try to relax.
Now that I can focus on something other than impending death, I check out the view. The Rocky Mountains spread to the west and the wheat-brown high plains to the east, the skyscrapers of downtown Denver stand to the south. The clouds feel close enough to stroke their fluffy surfaces, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see a bird lazily wing by at eye level.
“Doing okay?” Mike asks from behind me.
I give him two thumbs up. If I hadn’t just laid my heart in Stevie’s hand in the form of a scrawled-on slip of paper, I’d be perfect. But as we get closer and closer to the landing area, reality sets in.
Stevie had read the note, glanced at me with wide eyes, and dove out of the plane with Seth. I’d watched her fall with fear like a stick of dynamite in my gut. Not the fear of us dying in a horrible skydiving accident. The fear of rejection.
How will she react? Will she be happy about my surprise admission or angry or disappointed or regretful? What will she say?
Despite the certainty of my own feelings, doubt sets in, and a clamminess crawls up my spine. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Stevie’s a free spirit, but she doesn’t always appreciate surprises. Then again, my feelings would have been a surprise no matter how I shared them with her. I had to tell her how I felt. At least this way she gets a little time and space to think about how to respond.
I watch as the videographer, and then Stevie and Seth, land smoothly in the grassy field below, running a little ahead of the parachute. Within a few minutes, Mike and I are on the ground, jogging ahead as our own canopy collapses softly behind us.
Tamara and Dean and their instructors are already unharnessed with their parachutes collected. As Stevie, Seth, Mike and I collect ours, my anxiety grows. Stevie hasn’t even looked my way.
“Mike, thank you. That was fantastic,” I say. “Once in a lifetime experience.”
He shakes my hand. “You did great. But it doesn’t have to be once in a lifetime. You guys are welcome back any time.” He grins and tilts his head toward Stevie, who’s walking with Tam and Dean to the van waiting to take us back to the hangar. “Maybe for your honeymoon?”
I grin. “We’ll see.”
I’d felt like I should tell the instructors my plan earlier, so they’d know what I was doing when I handed Stevie the note. I’d asked if they were okay with it.
“Depends on what she says,” Seth had said with a laugh.
And now, as Mike and I join the others at the van, it’s the moment of truth. What will Stevie say?
When she throws her arms around me to hug me, my body melts and my heart busts into frenetic, excited thumping. She loves me. She wants me, too. Maybe she was even waiting for me to admit how I felt. She knew all al—
“Thank you so much for the incredible birthday present, Logan,” she says. “That was worth waiting thirty years for.” She’s smiling, and she’s looking at me, but she’s not quite meeting my gaze, if you know what I mean. Her eyes slide away immediately.
Oh, crap. Not good. Not good at all.
She’s referring to the skydiving, not my note. If she wants to be with me too, she’d say so now. If she needs more time, I think she’d still acknowledged the note. But her reaction, a genuine but careful thank you for my gift, is the worst possible response. It means, I think, that she’s buying time to decide what to say. Or to pretend my note—my admission of true freaking love—didn’t happen.