Mom got out of the passenger seat, rounding the car to hug me.
“Thanks for coming, Bunny. I know you prefer shorter visits, and I appreciate the time you’ve made for us.” She winced. Well, at least she didn’t chide me forthatwedding speech. “You pulled through wonderfully.”
“Yes, Sugar Pie. We hope you’ll grace us again with your presence this Thanksgiving.” Dad joined us, as Ransom pulled our suitcases out of the trunk.
No chance in hell they were seeing my face before next year.
I smiled tightly, giving them each a swift hug before inching toward the stairway of the plane. “Thanks for the hospitality. We’ll…talk.”
Maybe.
On the plane, it was only Ransom, one flight attendant, the pilot, and me.
“Where’s Max?” I buckled my seatbelt as we got ready for takeoff.
“Already in L.A.”
“How come?”
“Put him on a paid leave.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t needed.”
“Sounds like code for wanting the coast clear,” I teased, smiling.
The flight attendant came to sit next to us, buckling in, too.
Ransom smiled warmly at me. “Get your ears checked, Princess.”
I decided not to press the subject. After all, we weren’t alone. Also, I didn’t necessarily want to know what Ransom thought about the night we’d shared at my parents’ house. A rejection would crush me. Not knowing where I stood was just as hard, but I prolonged the conversation as long as I could.
After takeoff, Ransom dedicated himself to working on his laptop. When he was done, he speared me with a glare. “Thought about what you want to do yet?”
“How do you mean?” I shifted in my seat, buying time.
Of course, I hadn’t thought about it. I was terrified of my limited options, especially now that I’d been diagnosed with dyslexia.
“For a living,” he clarified. “With yourlife.”
“Of course, I’ve thought about it.” I frantically searched my brain for something. I was unqualified for most jobs, so I went with an option that required very little reading and a lot of personality. “I’m thinking of becoming a medical clown.”
“A medical clown?” he repeated, blinking slowly.
“Yup.” I grabbed my sketchpad and some pencils. “What’s wrong with that? I’ll be helping people.”
“It’s random.”
“It’ll pay the bills.”
“You don’t give a shit about the bills.”
“And you don’t give a shit about me. You wanted me to get a job, you never said I needed to become a brain surgeon. Now back off and let me live my life,” I snapped.
I was hoping he would dispute that statement. A deep gap stretched between giving a shit and being in love with someone, after all. I mean, he could still care, right? Even if it was just a little bit.
Ransom exhaled, squinting at the powder blue sky we were swimming in. “Be a clown, Miss Thorne. You seem to excel in that area.”