Don't worry, he told his stallion, as Connie unlocked the hanger doors. We're going to fly for her. That's sure to impress her.
His pegasus perked up, prancing on the spot. Yes! No one is faster, no one swifter, no one stronger than us! Show our mate! Shift, shift, now!
Chase's lips quirked at the stallion's rampant enthusiasm. Not that sort of flying.
“Here she is,” Connie said, rolling the big sliding door back.
Chase let out a long, low whistle of appreciation.
The vintage Spitfire gleamed like a work of art. Even parked in the hanger, the venerable WWII warplane looked ready to leap up into the air at any moment. It sat back on its wheels like a crouching beast, its single propeller pointed toward the sky, eternally keeping watch for Nazi planes.
“Hello, baby,” Connie said to her plane, her voice soft.
Chase would have given anything to have her speak to him that way. “She's even more beautiful than I remember. New paint job?”
Connie nodded, stroking the plane's gleaming olive-green hide. “Battle of Britain squadron colors. It's not historically accurate, given that she's a Mark IX, but I flew her at a big World War II memorial event a few months back and they wanted the classic camouflage colors on her. I think it suits her, anyway.”
“She's stunning.” Chase noticed the way that Connie stiffened slightly as he approached the plane. He carefully kept his hands behind his back as he circled the vintage warbird. “You've kept her in absolutely perfect condition.”
“And I want her to stay that way.” Connie turned to face him, putting her hands on her hips. “Chase, I'm taking a huge risk here. I need to hear you say that you understand what's at stake. Do you even know how much a plane like this is worth?”
“About two and a half million dollars,” Chase said absently, still admiring the plane. “Not including brokers fees.”
Connie's eyebrows shot up. “How did you know that?”
“I kept an eye out for any news about Spitfires, looking for clues about where you were.” Chase shrugged. “One was up for auction a little while ago. Though that one was a standard single-seater Mark IX. I suspect yours would be worth more.”
“A lot more, actually.” Connie pointed up at the two glass bubbles of the cockpits, one behind the other on top of the plane. “There are fewer than ten of these trainer Mark IXs still in the sky, and they're the only way a non-pilot can ever experience the thrill of flying in a Spitfire. People will pay a lot of money for a ride. Dad might get the occasional win from air racing, but the vast bulk of our income comes from passenger flights. This is my livelihood I'm trusting you with, Chase.”
And it's your mother's plane. The one she restored from a twisted wreck, by hand, over decades. It's not just your livelihood, Connie. It's your heart.
But Chase knew that Connie would never say that out loud. She was so determinedly pragmatic, she hated to admit to being influenced by emotion.
“I know what you're trusting me with,” Chase said gently. “And you can trust me. I promise.”
He regretted saying it the instant the words were out of his mouth. Connie's lips compressed, as she no doubt remembered just how badly he'd kept the last promise he'd made to her, three years ago.
“I'll be in the flight instructor's cockpit,” Connie said, pointing to the rear cockpit. “Both cockpits have full controls, so either one of us can fly the plane, but only I'll have the switch which toggles between the two cockpits. If I think that you're being at all reckless, I will throw that switch and take control back from you.”
“Understood.” Chase moved toward the front cockpit, ready to swing himself up.
Connie stopped him with a hand flat against his chest. “Let me make this crystal clear. If you value your balls, do not make me throw that switch.”
“I won't. I hope to have a lot of future use for them, after all.” He cocked a grin at her, which she did not return. “Can I get into the plane now?”
Connie hesitated, clearly searching for any other excuse to keep him out of the cockpit.
She really, really doesn't want me to do this. Maybe I should suggest she flies, and I navigate…
His pegasus pawed at the ground, snorting angry denial. No! She must see our strength, our speed! We must fly, or we will not win our mate!
His stallion had a point. Chase was pretty sure that no hero had ever won a fair maiden with an impressive feat of map reading.
He lightly pushed Connie's hand aside. “It's going to be pretty difficult for me to win the race for you if you won't even let me into the plane, you know.”
Connie grudgingly stepped to one side. “All right. I'll take her up, and then once we're in level flight I'll hand over control to you. Don't make me regret this.”
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