Olivia retrieved her tote and trudged up the stairs to her room, which was marked by its lack of clutter.

A white eyelet duvet she had found on the clearance rack at Macy’s covered her double bed. The crystal jewelry box her parents had given her for her sixteenth birthday sat on the dresser next to three framed photos—her older brothers, who hadn’t lived at home in years, her high school friends, and Olivia with her cousin and best friend, Jenny, before Jenny’s wedding. Her cousin’s blonde hair and hazel eyes were in stark contrast to Olivia’s darker coloring, but there was a hint of family resemblance between them nonetheless.

Framed posters of places Olivia dreamed of visiting decorated the walls—Paris, London, New York, and San Francisco. Her easel was set up by the window in the corner. A TV and boom box occupied the other corner.

The room was the one place in the messy house where Olivia could relax, study, draw, and paint in peace. She had resisted her mother’s many attempts to “jazz up” the space. Mary’s obsessive need to surround herself with “stuff” had made a less-is-more neat freak out of her daughter. Olivia dreamed of the day when she would finally finish school, get a better job, and move into a place of her own. That day seemed light-years away, though, as she chipped away at school a class or two at a time.

Since her parents couldn’t afford to help with tuition, Olivia was muddling through with a small scholarship and what she made pulling long shifts at the airport. She could probably make more money in a different job, but she loved the atmosphere at the airport, the excitement of travelers on their way to exotic places Olivia could only dream of visiting, and the opportunities to sketch a wide variety of people.

Her cell phone rang to the tune of “Ode to Joy,” and Olivia dug it out of her tote bag. She wasn’t surprised to see Jenny’s number on the caller ID, since they talked most nights at ten o’clock.

“Hey.” Olivia flopped on her bed to settle in for a chat. “What’s up?”

“Ugh,” Jenny sighed. “Billy’s cutting teeth, and he’s miserable. Of course that means we are, too. Will just went out with orders to bring back the biggest bottle of wine he can find. I’ve earned it today.”

“Poor Billy,” Olivia said. “I hate that he’s hurting.”

“So do I. The drool is irritating his skin, and he’s chewing on his fingers. He’s a mess.”

“It’s a good thing we can’t remember getting teeth, huh?”

“No kidding. I hope Will gets back with that wine—and soon.”

Olivia laughed. “Motherhood is turning you into a lush.”

“A lush and a loony. Tell me something from the outside world. Any tidbit will do.”

Olivia relayed the story of the famous pilot who had come to her rescue.

“Oh,” Jenny sighed. “That’s so romantic. Your very own knight in shining armor—and he’s already a national hero.”

“Puleeze,” Olivia said. “Only you could find romance in a punch to the face.”

“Wouldn’t that be something? If you could say you met your husband after he took a punch to the face for you?”

“Husband? You’re a freak—you know that? A total freak.”

“Don’t tell me it can’t happen. Your cousin on your mother’s side, Juliana—didn’t she meet her husband in an airport?”

“That was different. They sat together on a flight.”

“Let’s talk about the important stuff. Is he as sexy as he looked in all the pictures?”

Afraid to encourage her cousin, Olivia hesitated. “I guess.”

“Either he was sexy or he wasn’t. Which is it?”

“He was sexy enough.” To-die-for gorgeous was more like it, but there was no way she was telling Jenny that—not when she already had Olivia married to the guy. “It was hard to tell with one side of his face swelling up and turning purple.”

Olivia wished she could tell Jenny about the jolt she had experienced when she touched him. Bringing her hand to her face, she was sad to realize the scent of his cologne had faded. She wanted to ask if Jenny had ever felt a jolt with Will, but she didn’t want to add fuel to Jenny’s romantic fire.

“Tell me everything, as if I’ve never seen a picture of him.”

“He had dark hair.”

“Dark brown or closer to black?”

“Black, I guess. It was thick and kind of wavy, but not curly.”

“But you didn’t notice or anything.”

“Shut up.”

Jenny laughed. “What color eyes?”

That Olivia could answer without hesitation. “Blue.” Bright, vivid blue.

“Mmm, I love that combination. Jet-black hair, blue eyes, a pilot, and a hero—two times over now. I’m conjuring up Tom Cruise in Top Gun over here.”

“Is Will back with that wine yet?”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Are you going to see him again?”

“Why would I? He came into the store, got punched in the face, and left on a stretcher. I’m sure he’d like to forget he was ever there.”

“He’ll be back,” Jenny said.

“I don’t think so. Anyway, I’m going in early tomorrow to see if I can find out if he’s okay. I thought that was the least I could do.”

“Oh, yes,” Jenny agreed a little too enthusiastically. “The very least. It’ll probably make the news. Check online in the morning.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Let me know what you find out.”

“Good night, Jenny. Enjoy that wine.”

“I plan to!”

Olivia ended the call and shifted her eyes to the poster of San Francisco. The image of the Golden Gate Bridge with Alcatraz off in the distance was one of her favorites. If she could visit one place in the world, that’s where she would go.

She allowed herself a few minutes to daydream before she sat up and got back to reality. Her life had no room for daydreams or romantic fantasies about pilots on white horses. Olivia had no patience for such foolishness.

The next morning, she waited twenty minutes to speak to a supervisor at Capital Airlines. An early-morning scan of the news had yielded a brief mention of the incident but no information about his condition.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said in a clipped tone, “but company policy prohibits us from giving out personal information about our employees, especially First Officer Langston.”

Anticipating that possibility, Olivia handed the woman the note she had written to thank Cole for what he had done. “Can you get this to him?”

The harried woman took the envelope from Olivia. “I’ll do my best.”

Olivia watched her walk away, wondering if the note would ever find its way to him. “Oh well,” she whispered. “I tried.”

* * *

As long as Cole didn’t move—or breathe—he could stand the steady thrum of pain. Stretched out in a recliner, he’d discovered that even shifting to use the remote set off bongo drums in his skull that seemed to have a direct pipeline to his stomach. So he kept the TV turned off. With one eye swollen shut, he couldn’t see well enough to watch anyway.

“Damn, man, this lasagna is amazing,” Tucker, Cole’s friend and neighbor, said as he plopped down on the sofa, his plate filled to overflowing with food that had flooded in from friends who’d heard about Cole’s “accident.” Cole didn’t have the heart to tell Tuck that the smell made him nauseous. “Where’d it come from?”

“I think Debby made it.” Their friend Jeff’s wife was known for her Italian wizardry.

“I should’ve known,” Tuck said between huge bites.

When he’d left the Navy after ten years of living and working in squadrons and wardrooms, Cole had worried about making friends in his new home city of Chicago. Through sheer luck, he had bought the place next door to Tucker’s, launching a friendship that had led to a whole crowd of friends. Jeff, Tucker’s best friend from high school, Jeff’s wife, Debby, her sister, Denise, Denise’s husband, Paul, and so on. In short order, Cole had found himself on basketball and softball teams, but he had resisted the bowling league, much to Tucker’s dismay.

So when “the gang” heard that Cole was down for the count, they’d responded with enough food and drink to feed an army. Thankfully, Tucker and his endless appetite were around to put a dent in it, because Cole wasn’t the slightest bit interested.

“I’m surprised you haven’t been inundated with offers of sponge baths,” Tucker said with a sly grin. Cole’s success with the ladies, especially since “the incident” earlier in the year, was the stuff of legend with Tucker and the other guys.

“There’ve been a few.”

“Like who?” Tucker pounced. At five feet, ten inches and two hundred and twenty pounds, Tucker liked to say he lived vicariously through Cole.

“Brenda called from Miami and offered to come up.”

“Mmm, Brenda,” Tucker said with a sigh. “I like Brenda.”

If his head hadn’t felt so explosive, Cole would’ve thrown something at Tucker. “What I want to know is how she even heard about it.”

“Debby probably sent an email and copied her.”

“Further proof that I need to keep my ladies away from you people.”

“For the love of all that’s holy, please don’t do that. You know I have my needs. In fact, what I need right now is a slice of that chocolate cake.”

“Have at it.” Cole choked back a wave of nausea at the thought of cake. He shifted carefully and sucked in a sharp, deep breath to absorb the waves of pain in his head, face, and shoulder. He’d had concussions before but never one this bad.

“Jeez, you really look like crap,” Tucker said when he returned with the cake. “Probably just as well that Brenda won’t see you like this. It would break her heart.”

“Very funny.”

“So she really offered to come up?”

“Yeah.”

“And you said no? Did you tell her I’d be happy to have her?”

“Your name was never mentioned.”

“I bet you were lousy at sharing in the sandbox, too.” Tucker stuffed a big chunk of cake into his face. “You must’ve taken a hell of a hit if you don’t want any of your ladies around. I bet Heather would come running.”

“She’s dating Chuck. They’re happy.” At least Cole hoped so. He’d flown Heather to cancer treatments at Sloan-Kettering in New York for a year before she went into remission and immediately professed her undying love for him. Realizing she was hearing wedding bells, Cole—who was deathly afraid of the sound of ringing bells—had quickly extricated himself by fixing her up with his friend.

“That may be so, but she still goes all moony when you’re around.” Tucker batted his eyelashes at Cole.

“You’re just jealous.”

“You’re goddamned right I am. I don’t know how you do it, man. Even before your Superman act, your picture should’ve been next to the words ‘chick magnet’ in the dictionary. But now we mere mortals can only look on with envy.”

In his right mind, Cole would’ve had a witty retort ready to shut Tucker up, but Cole with a headache the size of the Grand Canyon chose not to engage. “Is it time for more pain pills yet?”

Tucker consulted his watch. “Another hour.”

Cole moaned.

“This is why I suggested a sponge bath to get your mind off your troubles.”

“Are you offering?”

Tucker almost spit chocolate cake all over Cole’s new leather sofa.

“Hell no! But if you’re truly feeling desperate, I bet I could get Nutty Natasha over here in less than five minutes.”

Cole didn’t care about the pain when he sat right up and looked Tucker in the eye. “Don’t you even think about it!” A surge of nausea took his breath away, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, Cole thought he might throw up.

Tucker howled with laughter. “Relax, man. I’m just joshing ya.”

“That is so not funny. I really hope Debby didn’t copy her on the email.”

“If she had, Nutty Natasha would’ve been here by now.”

“No doubt.” Cole grimaced at the thought of it. “I still haven’t forgiven you guys for fixing me up with that whack job.”

“You can’t blame us. We had no idea she was certifiable.”

“I can so blame you.” Cole didn’t even like to think about what he’d been through with that woman. It’d been almost enough to swear him off women forever.

Almost.

“So you’re not going to let any of them come nurse you back to health? What about Diana in Phoenix? I bet she gives good sponge.”

Cole couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Don’t make me laugh,” he said wincing.

“Don’t make me beg. I’ve been having naughty-nurse fantasies ever since you got smacked around.”

“I did not get ‘smacked around,’ and p.s., you need to get your own girlfriend.”

“You think I’m not trying? I mean, I ask you… what woman wouldn’t want a piece of this?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“If you aren’t having naughty-nurse fantasies of your own, I’m worried that you suffered permanent brain damage.”

“No permanent damage. Don’t worry. I’m just not in the mood.”

Tucker stared at Cole as if he’d lost his mind. “You? Not in the mood for women? Since when?”

Since he’d met a woman named Olivia—and all the others had faded into the background in an instant. Cole couldn’t stop thinking about her waterfall of silky dark hair, her soft brown eyes, lovely smile, and the odd sensation that had zipped through him when she touched him.

“Earth to Cole.” Tucker waved his hand back and forth in front of Cole’s face. “What has you a million miles away?”

Unlike in the past, Cole had no desire to tell his friend about the woman he’d met. Tucker would assume she was just a flavor of the month and make a joke that would irritate Cole.

All he knew about Olivia was her first name and where she worked, but he wanted to know more. He wanted to rush back to Reagan and find out everything he could about her. That alone was so far out of character it should’ve scared him half to death. Instead, it filled him with excitement and anticipation.

“I’m dreaming of pain pills. Are you sure it’s another hour?”

“You’re down to fifty-two minutes.”

“Fabulous,” Cole groaned.