Yes - Onwards (main story)

Emily adjusted the strap of her laptop bag for the third time, her fingers brushing against the cool metal buckle. She hated flying—not the act itself, but the ritual of it, the way airports made everyone move in the same hurried patterns, like ants in a colony they didn’t understand. Her heels clicked against the linoleum as she fell into step beside Kevin, who was scrolling through his phone with the practiced ease of someone who traveled too often to care.

Kevin glanced up, catching her eye. "You good?" he asked, slipping the phone into his jacket pocket. His voice was low, almost intimate in the way it cut through the terminal noise.

"Yeah," Emily said, though her grip on the bag strap tightened. "Just thinking about the presentation." It wasn’t a lie, exactly. The presentation mattered. But the way Kevin’s sleeve brushed against hers as they walked mattered too, in a way she couldn’t—wouldn’t—name.

Ahead, the gate attendant announced pre-boarding. Kevin gestured for her to go ahead, his hand hovering near the small of her back without touching. The gesture was polite, professional, but it sent a flicker of warmth through her. She wondered if he did that on purpose—if he knew the effect he had.

The plane smelled like disinfectant and stale coffee. Emily settled into her window seat, fingers drumming against the armrest. Kevin stowed his bag overhead with a quick, efficient motion before sliding in beside her. His knee bumped hers as he sat, and neither of them moved to correct it.

The engines whined to life with a deep, shuddering hum, and Emily pressed her forehead against the cool window, watching the ground crew scurry away like startled insects. Kevin shifted beside her, his shoulder pressing briefly against hers as he adjusted his seatbelt. "You ever been to Atlanta before?" he asked, his voice a quiet counterpoint to the cabin noise.

Emily shook her head, tearing her gaze from the tarmac. "First time. Heard it's all peaches and humidity." She meant it as a joke, but her voice came out softer than intended, almost breathless.

Kevin chuckled, the sound warm and easy. "Peaches, yes. Humidity, absolutely." He reached into the seatback pocket and pulled out the safety card, flipping it idly between his fingers. "There's a bar near the client's office—wood paneling, bourbon older than both of us combined. Perfect place to celebrate after we close this thing."

The way he said *we* sent a jolt through her. She studied his profile—the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his thumb traced the edge of the safety card absently. He wasn’t just her boss here. Out of the office, in this cramped metal tube hurtling through the sky, he felt like something else entirely.

A flight attendant paused by their row, offering drinks. Kevin ordered a club soda with lime; Emily asked for the same, though she normally hated the stuff. When the drinks came, their fingers brushed during the handoff, and she swore she saw his throat tighten before he took a deliberate sip.