Morning arrived like it had been arranged, quietly, on time and respectful. The house remembered last night's promise and kept its voice down.
Housekeeping was nowhere to be found as someone had given them the day off.
The kitchen smelled faintly of coffee and citrus, the kind of wake-up you got when your money had manners.
Ashley stood in the walk-in closet, barefooted deciding on the clothes to take with her. After several minutes of trial and error, she settled for her outfits. She also included flats and a lipstick she trusted to be there for her.
She heard a small knock at the door.
"Come in," she said.
Julian stepped into the doorway fully clothed. T-Shirt, dark trousers, The composed version of casual, he looked good.
He didn't sleep in the room with her last night, like he did on some days, while she lay waiting for him subconsciously.
"Good morning," he said.
"Is it?" she asked, because nerves sometimes masqueraded as wit.
"It intends to be." A corner of his mouth conceded he'd heard the nerves.
His gaze flicked to the suitcase, the short list of things.
"Good, you packed light," he said.
"You told me to."
"I like being obeyed, when I'm right."
"Benevolent tyrant," she said.
They held each other's eyes a second too long. He looked away first, toward the window where morning climbed seeking to peep through.
"Car in twenty," he said, calmly "Unless you need more."
"I'm ready," she said and surprised herself by meaning it.
He set a flat packet on her dresser, sealed with a sliver of navy ribbon. "Plane only," he said. "Don't negotiate."
"Bossy."
"Prepared."
He didn't step closer. He didn't touch her. He just stood steady, an anchor in an expensive frame, letting the moment be hers to name.
"I'll meet you at the car," she said.
He left the door open behind him on his way out.
She zipped the suitcase, slid passports into the side pocket, checked nothing and everything twice. Old habits. In the mirror, a woman looked back who hadn't planned any of this and was walking into it anyway with her chin up. That would have to be enough.
"Hints?" she tried, as she settled in the car. "Where are you taking me?"
"Blue," he said. "Quiet. Good weather."
"That narrows it down to Earth."
"I have a pilot who tries."
She laughed despite herself, the space between them stayed careful and bright, full of unsaid things that finally had time.
Traffic opened up like it had been bribed. They slid by the stadium, then a billboard pretending to be art, till the road narrowed into private smoothness.
"Any last-minute terms?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "Two."
She waited.
"One, if at any point you want home more than away, say it. We turn around. No explanations. No questions asked."
"And two?"
"Let yourself enjoy it," he said, as if it were radical. "Have an open mind."
She looked at him, "Deal," "If you stop checking for exits every five minutes."
"Ambitious," he murmured. "Accepted."
The gate recognized the car and behaved, Julian stepped out first and offered a hand, while the driver set down their luggage.
"Ready?" he asked.
"As I'll ever be," she said.
A staircase waited, leading up to a jet. The air stewardess welcomed them aboard, as they climbed. Inside, the cabin was light and linen and the soft insistence of money. Two seats faced the windows, a table tucked between like a promise. A porcelain bowl sat by a slim vase of white flowers.
"Phones?" the attendant asked, gentle.
"Music?" he asked as they sat.
"Mine," she said.
"Of course."
He adjusted nothing about her comfort beyond what she allowed, a shade angled a little lower, a blanket folded but not offered. He didn't hover.
He only existed at the exact respectful distance of a man who wanted to be trusted.
Engines spooled.
The runway began to blur.
"Open it once we're up," he said, nodding at the flat packet on her lap. "Not before."
"Bossy," she teased, but softer now.
"Prepared," he returned, and the word warmed the narrow air between them.
The plane lifted, the city shrinking into puzzle pieces. Clouds gathered and separated on a whim. Ashley let the climb steady inside her.
"Now," he said quietly.
She broke the ribbon, slid the thick paper open. Inside: a slim leather sleeve, a pen that clicked like a secret, and a single card on creamy stock in tidy print.
For Ashley — Day One
No last names until dinner.
You pick the soundtrack for takeoff, I pick the view for landing.
One wish, any size. Redeemable without explanation.
—J.
Beneath it, two more slips. The first, a key on a silk cord, old brass, new ribbon. The second, a Polaroid of nothing but blue sea or sky, impossible to tell. It was hand-written on the border:
It looks better in person.
Her breath snagged at the ridiculousness, the care and thoughtfulness.
She looked over. He was watching her like a man trying not to. He didn't ask well? He let her decide what to make of the gesture.
"Rule one is unfair," she said, aiming for light and landing on honest. "I like calling you by your last name."
His mouth tipped, a victory kept small. "We can break it at dinner."
"And the wish?" she asked. "Any size?"
"Any," he said. "You can spend it now or hoard it like the goblin."
She tucked the card back into the sleeve like it was breakable. The key lay in her palm, warm from her skin. It felt like a secret that hadn't decided what door it owned.
"What if I wish to know where we're going?" she tested.
"That's a cheap wish,you'll be there soon anyways, why waste your wish on that" he said, too quickly.
She laughed, genuine and startled. "Fine. I'll save it."
The plane smoothed out. The light through the window went from city-white to something softer. For a long moment, they just breathed the same good air and let the world get smaller beneath them.
"May I sit closer for landing?" he asked, as if it were a formality on a form. "It's a superstition."
"Only if you don't pretend it's about physics," she said.
"It's not," he admitted.
He shifted, a fraction nearer. His bare arm brushed hers, the smallest proof that two people could share a narrow sky and not break it.
"Thank you," he said, surprising her.
"For what?"
"For letting it be easy."
She swallowed. "Thank you for arranging the weather."
"Don't jinx my pilot."
Somewhere below, a coastline began to appear.
Ashley turned the key over once more. Old brass. New ribbon. Possibility.
"Tell me one more hint," she said, unable to help herself.
He considered. "Its the place I go for some peace and quiet, when the world is too loud," he said at last. "I haven't taken anyone there, don't worry."
"And you're taking me."
"If you still want to go," he said.
She didn't look away. "I do."
Something eased in his face that wasn't for boardrooms or cameras. It might have been relief. It might have been hope.
She slid the key's silk cord over her wrist so it wouldn't wander. Outside, the blue they were flying toward unfurled like a promise and refused to name itself.
The captain's voice came warm and calm. "We'll be descending shortly."
The plane tipped, gathering the horizon.
She slid the card back into the sleeve and kept the key warm in her palm.
"Ready?" he asked, voice low, not quite steady.
She didn't look away from the window. "Very."