Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Zena

As our private jet soared smoothly toward Nashville, the atmosphere inside the cabin was more volatile than an unbalanced washing machine during a spin cycle. It had to be the most awkward flight I'd ever experienced, sitting eight inches from Nolan, but finding it impossible to have a decent conversation with him.

Dad's voice on the phone—sharp, irritated, and loud—cut through the air for what felt like the hundredth time. Mom shot me another sympathetic glance. She looked as thrilled about his business call marathon as I felt. And embarrassed, considering we had a guest onboard with us.

"I don't care if you have to carry the package barefoot on broken glass through a tornado, it better make it to Los Angeles by the end of the day or you'll be hearing from me again! Trust me, you won't like that call because it will be your last." He disconnected the call and took a sip of his pre-lunch whiskey, before calling someone else and tearing into them.

I wished so badly that it was only me and Nolan on this flight. We'd been having such a great time together in Las Vegas, and now it felt like we'd hit pause on the fun. We couldn't chat. We couldn't flirt. We couldn't do anything. Trapped in this flying pressure cooker of parental supervision and business calls, I longed for that carefree atmosphere.

I tried to ignore Dad's voice and drift to happier thoughts—specifically, waking up this morning to Nolan's adorable snore. It was like a gentle breeze through a cracked window that lulled me right back to sleep.

Nolan pulled out his phone and typed something.

I glanced down at the text on my vibrating phone.

Nolan: What's that smile for? ??

I don't know why I hadn't thought of exchanging messages with him. It was such a great idea to pass the time and distract us from Dad's annoying behavior. I eagerly typed a reply, looking forward to some fun with him.

Me: I'll tell you why I smiled if you tell me why you wanted me to wear the Simpson's T-shirt to bed last night.

Nolan: Deal.

Me: Really? Promise?

Nolan: Promise.

Me: You have the cutest snore. ??

Nolan: Seriously? I gave you earplugs! Why didn't you use them?

Me: I didn't want to. Your snoring is soothing and hypnotic. You should record it and sell it as a sleeping aid.

Nolan: You're weird.

Me: And proud of it. ??

Mom gave me a knowing smile.

She knew I liked Nolan.

Women knew these things.

"You tell that ignoramus I'm watching him like a hawk," Dad said to the person on the other end of the call.

I glanced down at my vibrating phone again.

Nolan: Your dad is the life of the party. I think I found my new bestie. ??

We both fell into an uncontrollable giggle fit, playfully bumping each other's arms, but the fun was cut short when Dad glared at us.

Nolan: Is he always like this?

Me: All. Day. Long. It's ridiculous and unhealthy.

Nolan: How is your mom able to handle it?

Me: Wine and patience. In that order. Tell me about the T-shirt.

Nolan: Your abrupt change of subject gave me a case of vertigo. It's hard to focus. I can't type anymore! What happened to my finger function?

Me: Notice you're the only one smiling? Spill it.

Nolan: Thank you for your patience. Your text will be answered in the order it was received. ??

Me: Tell me!!!!

Nolan: Fine. Calm down before you get throbbing veins in your forehead like your dad. The T-shirt is meant as a distraction, so I don't have to look at your body.

Me: Rude.

Nolan: Because I can't take my eyes off you.

Me: You're forgiven, but don't think I have forgotten you stole my french fries last night. Maybe I'll wear my new red silky nightgown to bed tonight, to get back at you.

Nolan: Don't you dare!

We shared another laugh as he tapped another message.

Nolan: I can't stop thinking about you.

Me: Likewise.

Nolan: And I want to kiss you.

Me: Not as much as I want to kiss you.

He looked over and glanced down at my lips.

I suddenly got nervous that he might do it right there in front of Dad and quickly typed another text to stop it before it happened.

Me: Not now! Get that out of your mind!

Captain Jack's voice crackled over the intercom, his tone casual but professional. "Folks, we've just been informed by Air Traffic Control that because of thunderstorms in Nashville, we're being diverted to land in Memphis. As of right now, I have no information on how long we'll be on the ground there, but I'll keep you updated. Sorry for the inconvenience."

Dad muttered something as he gripped the armrest and stared out the window.

Nolan: Does your dad have something urgent scheduled in Nashville besides the game?

Me: No, he's just nervous about anything unplanned or unexpected, whether or not it's flight-related. Always has.

Dad downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.

Nolan: He needs a distraction. I have an idea.

Me: No! Don't do it!

Unfortunately, Nolan didn't see my last text.

He popped out of his seat. "How about we play a game to pass the time?"

"No," Dad said immediately, which was not a surprise.

Mom, however, shut him down in an instant. "We're playing. What kind of game?"

"It's called Blank Slate Day," Nolan said. "Imagine you wake up tomorrow on a normal workday, but there is suddenly nothing on your calendar. What would you do with the free day that dropped in your lap? Say the first thing that pops into your head."

Dad scoffed. "That's ridiculous. There's always something on the calendar."

Nolan pressed on, undeterred. "That's the point, sir. It's a chance to imagine and to think about what you'd do if all of your obligations disappeared. It's a game."

"A game I don't want to play," he said. "Can I get back to work?"

"Everett—don't be such a bore," Mom said. "Give us an answer."

He glanced at her, looking a mix of surprised and offended. "I'll show you how pointless this exercise can be. If I woke up tomorrow with no obligations, I would go right back to bed and sleep all day. Happy?"

We all stared at him in disbelief.

"What's the problem?" he asked defensively.

Mom shook her head. "That's not an answer, unless you're sick or sleep deprived. Is that what you mean?"

"Quite the opposite," Dad said. "A day is not enough time to do anything worthwhile, so I might as well sleep it off."

Nolan quickly adapted. "Okay, let's make it Blank Slate Week instead. That gives you seven days to do something unexpected."

Dad grumbled, but eventually gave in when everybody stared at him. "Fine. I'd start by reviewing long-term strategic plans, identifying areas for improvement."

"Something non-work related," Nolan said. "This is a chance to improvise and have fun."

"Impulsive decisions lead to suboptimal outcomes," Dad interjected.

"Come on, Dad, give us something!" I said.

"Something you've always wanted to do or something you used to do, but stopped," Nolan added.

Dad held up his hand. "I get the idea." He shook his head and sighed. "Okay, I'd probably dust off my old guitar and write a song or two."

We all stared at him, stunned into silence.

"Dad—I didn't even know you played," I finally said.

Mom nodded, a hint of fond reminiscing brightening up her eyes. "Back when we first started dating. Your dad was quite talented."

He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable under our collective gaze. "Nothing professional, mind you, but there was this one melody that's been stuck in my head for years. I've always wanted to finish it."

"I thought you got rid of that guitar," Mom said.

"Still got it—it's in the attic." Dad shrugged. "It was a long time ago, back when times were different. But sometimes, late at night when I can't sleep, I still hear that tune."

For a moment, I saw a glimpse of a different man, not the hard-driving businessman, but someone with hidden depths and unfulfilled dreams.

"Well," Nolan said, breaking the silence. "I think we all agree that's what you should do with your week off."

"Don't count on it," Dad said, bouncing back to his rigid self. "In the business world and in life, success is built on meticulous strategy, not whimsical flights of fancy. That is the number one rule."

"I disagree," Nolan said, his voice calm but challenging. His eyes briefly met mine, before glancing back at Dad. "A wise woman once told me that rules can create rigidity, limited expression, predictability, and in many cases, artificial behavior. I have since learned that she is right."

I felt my cheeks warm as I recognized my own words. How had Nolan remembered it so precisely? The fact that he'd not only listened to me but internalized my words enough to quote them back made something flutter in my stomach. Too bad Dad sucked the air out of my sails in the blink of an eye.

"That woman is obviously insane," he said.

"That woman is your daughter," Nolan clarified.

Mom crossed her arms. "How does your foot taste this time, Everett?"

Dad stammered. "Oh, I, uh …"

"When was the last time you had a vacation, Mr. Dalton?" Nolan asked.

"Ha!" Mom said. "Start naming presidents in reverse order and I will tell you when to stop. The last three vacations, Zena and I went by ourselves."

Nolan stared at him.

Dad held up a finger. "Don't you dare even think about giving me another lecture."

Not wanting the two of them to get into another verbal sparring match, I jumped in and said, "Mom, your turn. What would you do if you suddenly had a week without obligations?"

"Well, we are always rushing around and flying everywhere, so I would love to do something different and take a road trip," she said.

"Where would you go?" Nolan asked.

Mom smiled. "Grand Canyon. Route 66. Anywhere, really, just to drive for a while. It would be wonderful to cruise down the highway in a convertible, wind in my hair, while listening to Tina Turner's greatest hits. We could stop at one of those charming fruit stands on the side of the road and buy some fresh fruit. I've always wanted to do that."

"Sounds like the perfect week," Nolan said with a smile. "My mom is also a big Tina Turner fan." He turned to me. "Zena, what about you?"

"I would start by planting a vegetable garden," I said. "I'd learn to cook some gourmet dishes. And I'd cap it all off with a pizza-eating contest at the County Fair."

Nolan tilted his head to the side. "They have pizza-eating contests at the fair?"

"They do in my dreams," I bumped his arm. "Your turn. What would you do?"

Nolan grinned. "Well, it's kind of related to your last one, but I'd take it one step further and fly to Naples, Italy, for the world's largest pizza festival."

"Is that a thing?" I asked.

He nodded emphatically. "Oh yeah, it's real, all right. There are over fifty of Naples' best pizzerias all in one place, right along the waterfront. You've got the ambiance of thousands of people from all around the world, combined with live music and the smell of wood-fired pizza all around you. You get to eat your way through slice after amazing slice. It's basically pizza paradise."

"I'm going to change my answer. I'm going to Naples with Nolan," I blurted.

Mom nodded enthusiastically and raised her hand. "Count me in too!"

All eyes turned to Dad, waiting for his thoughts.

He crossed his arms. "Why on Earth would I travel to Naples for pizza when Little Italy is ten minutes from our house?"

Mom huffed in exasperation. "Honestly, Everett. And to think you gave me a glimmer of hope when you mentioned the guitar."

"That was a lifetime ago." Dad got up to use the restroom.

After he passed us, Nolan leaned in close to me and said sotto voce, "Is it my imagination, or does your dad visit the bathroom an awful lot?"

I shrugged, surprised by his observation. "I haven't been keeping a tally."

"Seriously—That's his fourth or fifth trip since we boarded," Nolan continued, his brow furrowed with concern. "And he has had little to drink. It might be nothing, but my dad had similar symptoms before we found out he had kidney stones."

His words sobered me instantly, since Mom and I had been worried about his health lately. "Thanks for mentioning it. I'll talk with Mom about it when we're alone and see what she has to say."

Captain Jack's voice came over the intercom. "Please prepare for landing."

Dad returned to his seat and strapped himself in, his face set in a scowl.

Twenty-five minutes later, we found ourselves in the private terminal of Memphis International Airport, sipping coffee and waiting. The tension around Dad was palpable, but Nolan lightened my mood with his suggestions for passing the time.

"We could play I Spy ," he whispered.

I playfully swatted his arm, but couldn't keep the smile from my face. "Don't you dare start that here in the terminal."

As I watched Nolan, I marveled at his calm confidence. Unlike the parade of yes-men that usually surrounded Dad, Nolan wasn't afraid to speak his mind when it mattered. It was refreshing, to say the least. But the genuine surprise was Mom. It was as if Nolan's presence had flipped a switch inside her. She was pushing back against Dad's rigidity with a fervor I hadn't seen in years. Her newfound assertiveness was like watching a butterfly emerge from its chrysalis, beautiful and long overdue.

Captain Jack approached us, his expression grim. "I'm afraid I don't have good news. There's a computer glitch and the number of aircraft diverting to alternative airports is increasing, creating a significant backlog. It's unlikely we'll get clearance to resume our trip for at least five or six hours, from what it sounds like."

Nolan piped up. "Why don't we rent a car and drive? Nashville can't be that far, and it would be much better than being cooped up here. A little fresh air would do us good."

Captain Jack nodded. "Not a bad idea at all. It's a straight shot east on Interstate 40. You're looking at around three hours, maybe more, depending on traffic, which should be minimal at this hour. I can have your luggage sent to your hotel the moment I get to Nashville."

"Absolutely not," Dad cut in. "We'll wait for the jet. Let's not get all crazy, and start changing plans."

Nolan leaned toward Mom, frowning. "Sorry, I tried to get you that road trip you've been dreaming of, albeit a short one."

Mom patted his arm. "You're always so thoughtful, Nolan. Thank you." To my surprise, she turned to Dad and said, "You know what, Everett? It's only fair that we vote on it."

"What are you talking about?" Dad asked with a snarl.

"Flying or driving," Mom said. "All in favor of renting a car?"

Nolan, Mom, and I raised our hands.

I grinned. "That was easy."

Dad fumed. "No. We are waiting, and that's final."

"It is not final!" Mom said with determination in her eyes. "If you're so adamant about flying, you can go by yourself and we'll meet you there." She shook her head. "Honestly, what happened to your sense of adventure? What happened to the fun man I married? I don't even recognize you anymore."

Dad blinked, looking like he'd been hit by a truck. For a moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Sadness? Regret? Or recognition?

Finally, he sighed. "Fine. We'll rent a car."

Mom calmly turned to Captain Jack with not even a hint of victory gloating in her voice when she said, "Thank you for taking care of the bags for us."

He nodded. "My pleasure."

"I'll take care of the rental," Nolan said, wisely disappearing before Dad could say or do anything else.

Surprisingly enough, instead of going to the regular car rental counter, he talked with an agent at the luxury car rentals booth. What was he thinking of getting?

As we waited for him to return, Mom and Dad were silent, both on their phones. I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. This unexpected road trip might be what my parents needed, the beginning of them breaking out of their controlled mundane routines and trying to reconnect. I wanted that more than anything. And with Nolan with us, it would be anything but boring. Especially when he returned ten minutes later with a mischievous look on his face, jingling the car keys in the air.

"Okay, we are set!" Nolan said. "I'll drive."

"That won't be necessary," Dad said right on cue. "That's why we hire drivers. We let the professionals do their jobs, so we can focus on other things."

"I am a professional," Nolan said. "You pay me to drive the Zamboni."

Dad scoffed. "The Zamboni goes two miles an hour. That BMW will easily go over two hundred. Big difference."

"I'm still driving," Nolan said. "I insist."

"We're hiring a driver." Dad stepped closer to him. " I insist."

Nolan didn't back down. "What's the problem? You don't trust me?"

"Your assumption is correct," Dad answered.

Nolan held up three fingers. "Okay, three things … First, I have a perfect driving record. You're all safe in my hands. Two, it would be a pleasure to be your wife's chauffeur for a few hours."

Mom blushed. "Honestly, Nolan, if you were any sweeter, I would pour you on top of my pancakes."

"I was thinking the same thing about you," Nolan said, before turning back to Dad. "And number three, even if we wanted to hire a driver, we couldn't."

Dad placed his hands on his hips. "And why is that?"

"Because there's no room—the car only seats four."

"I don't like where this is going," Dad said. "I hate compact cars."

"I never said it was small," Nolan said.

"Ooh …" I rubbed my hands together in eager anticipation. "What kind of car did you get?"

"I'm so glad you asked!" Nolan said with a smirk. "You'll be happy to know that I could secure a vehicle that satisfies the needs and desires of both your parents. Luxury and style for Mr. Dalton's expensive taste, along with something thrilling and fun that would easily quench the adventurous thirst of your mother. A metallic red BMW M8 Competition." He jingled the keys in the air again. "Convertible."

"What about the thunderstorms in Nashville?" Dad asked.

Nolan shrugged. "I'm sure they will be long gone by the time we get there."

The man never ceased to amaze me.

Nolan remembered I had told him the day we met at Lucha Libre Taco Shop that Dad preferred that I drive around in a BMW or Mercedes instead of my Chevy Malibu.

"I adore you, Nolan," Mom declared, stepping closer and planting an appreciative kiss on his cheek.

Not to be outdone, I sidled up to him.

"Well, if we're keeping score, I adore you exponentially more," I announced. Before my brain caught up with my heart, I was on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his.

Nolan melted into the kiss, but he suddenly stiffened and pulled away. Reality came crashing back to smack me between the eyes when I realized what I had done. Our shocked gazes met. We turned slowly toward Dad, looking for his reaction to the kiss. Not a surprise, his face contorted into a scowl.

"I should have known this would happen at some point," he grumbled, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of us.

"It's not what you think," Nolan blurted.

"Save it!" Dad interrupted. "Do you take me for a fool? It's as clear as day what's going on here!"

My heart pounded.

This was it.

He knew.

"Dad, I can explain?—"

"No need," he cut me off. "Did you really think you could distract me with that ridiculous fake kiss so I'd forget about the rental car and the fact that Nolan is going to drive? You can fool Mitch with that crap, but not me."

I blinked, momentarily stunned by his completely misguided conclusion.

Mom swooped in, miraculously able to contain her amusement. "Oh, you caught them red-handed, dear. These youngsters can't pull one over on you!" She shot us a wink as she sauntered past, leaving Dad nodding in self-satisfaction.

"That's right," Dad declared, puffing out his chest while his gut strained against his belt. "Nice try, but your old man's too sharp for your tricks. Now, let's hit the road before I come to my senses about this driving nonsense."

As we trailed behind them, Nolan leaned in close, his warm breath tickling my ear. "Your dad's powers of observation are truly something else."

I bit my lip, suppressing a laugh. "Lucky for us."

Sadly, Dad was completely inept in matters of the heart. He could spot a lucrative investment opportunity from a mile away, but couldn't recognize genuine affection if it tap-danced in front of him wearing a neon sign. How could he be so oblivious to the sparks flying between Nolan and me? It was like watching a chess grandmaster struggle with a game of tic-tac-toe.

Still, I was sure it would be only a matter of time before he was onto us. The question was, how would Dad react when he found out I had strong feelings for a man he clearly did not approve of?