“I can’t believe all the people,” I said. “Is it always this crowded?”

“It’s the season. The airports are always crazy during the holidays.” He looked at me. “Are you afraid of flying?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m afraid of . . . not flying.”

“What do you mean?”

“As long as you’re in the air there’s no problem, right? It’s coming back to earth that’s the problem.”

He grinned. “I think you just said something profound about life.”

Our flight was direct from Salt Lake to JFK. Nicholas had booked two first-class tickets, which secretly thrilled me. I had never flown first-class before. We boarded first, before the throng of passengers that surrounded the gate.

“So this is how the other half lives,” I said, sitting back in the wide, padded seat.

“When you fly as much as I do, it’s more of a necessity than a luxury.”

“It’s still luxury,” I said.

I must have looked a little nervous as the plane took off because he reached over and took my hand. Or maybe he just wanted to hold my hand. I hoped for the latter.

“Is our hotel in the city?” I asked.

“We’re staying at the Parker Meridien on Fifty-Sixth,” he said. “It’s a nice hotel. French. And it’s close to things. It’s only six blocks from Rockefeller Center.”

“That’s where the big Christmas tree is,” I said.

He nodded. “And we’re only one block from Fifth Avenue.”

“What’s on Fifth Avenue?”

“Shopping,” he said.

The flight was just a little over four hours. Nicholas fell asleep shortly after they served us lunch. As hard as he worked, I wasn’t surprised. Even though I hadn’t slept well the night before, I couldn’t sleep on the plane. I was too excited. I felt like a girl on her first school field trip. Nicholas didn’t wake until we began our descent. He rubbed his eyes, looked around, then checked his watch. “I slept for two hours. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the sleep,” I said.

After we had disembarked, Nicholas stopped in a terminal store for some melatonin, then I followed him through the labyrinth of JFK to get our luggage. Downstairs, next to the baggage carousel, was a man in a black suit and cap holding a sign with my name on it.

ELISE DUTTON

“Is that for me?” I asked, which I realized was a foolish question.

“Of course,” Nicholas said.

“I’ve never had someone holding a sign for me.”

The man took our bags, and we followed him out into the cold to a black Lincoln Town Car. The ride took us across the Triborough Bridge into Manhattan, which gave us a clear view of the city’s famous skyline. “Is that the Empire State Building?” I asked, pointing at a tall building lit red and green.