She stared at the arrow pointing toward the private airport just east of town.

“There’s nowhere to eat at the airport.”

He flashed her a smile that had her hormones whimpering in delight. “I know.”

So why would they be going to the—“We’re getting on a plane?” she asked, her voice a little shrieky.

“We are. Now sit back and enjoy the drive.”

Given the time of year and how far north they were, the sun had already set. They drove through the darkness, arriving at the brightly lit airport ten minutes later. Dena stared at a small, sleek jet waiting on the tarmac. As Micah parked, the door on the plane opened and stairs were lowered, as if they were being invited inside.

“We’re getting on that?” she asked, unable to grasp the concept.

“We are. We’re flying to Seattle. It should take about thirty minutes to get there.”

“On a private jet?”

“I chartered it.”

They got out of the car and started toward the plane.

“How does that work?” she asked. “You pick up the phone and ask for a private jet to be delivered.”

“I have an account with the company, so yes. I was lucky one was available.” The smile returned. “I didn’t give them much notice.”

She would guess not, what with him asking her to dinner less than two hours earlier.

One of the two pilots came down to meet them. He introduced himself as Ron Sullivan and escorted them inside. Dena tried not to gape at the well-appointed interior, including comfy-looking plush leather seats.

Ron explained the safety features, showed her how to work the toilet in the bathroom, and put out a very nice cheese plate, along with an assortment of liquor, wine, and plain and sparkling water. She and Micah sat across from each other, and minutes later, the jet rolled down the runway and up into the sky.

“Things like this don’t happen to me,” she said. “I mean ever.”

He looked at her, his expression anxious. “You’ve flown before, haven’t you?”

“Oh, please. Of course I’ve flown.”

Twice, she added silently to herself. Both times she’d driven to Seattle and had caught her plane there. No one had ever sent a private jet for her. She didn’t even know anyone who’d flown on a private jet.

“It must be really nice to be a rock star,” she said.

He got up and collected a couple of cans of club soda and the cheese plate. “It is. Now only the hard cheese, right?”

“Yes, and I’m too excited to eat anything.”

“Have a little cheese and a couple of crackers. We have a stop to make before we go to dinner, and I don’t want you getting too hungry.”

She smiled at him. “You have a nurturing side, don’t you? That’s unexpected.”