Zee’s ears welcomed the hum of the jet’s engines. It would be a brief, overnight stop in Healdsburg, then back to the wind and surf. The beige and cream, two-toned interior of his jet always seemed to calm him. And it was quiet, with only Annie to accompany him back to California.

On the flight out of Healdsburg to Salt Lake City last week, the ten-seat jet had reached capacity. Zee commissioned his pilot to stop at the Healdsburg Municipal Airport to retrieve the subjects of his documentary to be premiered at the Sundance Film Festival. None of the field workers had ever been on a plane before. After their initial excitement, and notoriety in the spotlight, they were ready to be home with their families. Zee had flown them all back on a commercial flight a few days earlier.

Zee grabbed his glass of ginger ale. The crushed ice clinked against his teeth as the cool spritzer poured down his throat. Tori’s long stride interrupted his thoughts. He attempted to clear his mind of her through meditation. He relaxed back and closed his eyes. The coils within his roomy, leather seat warmed his back and legs. The comforts of his corporate jet were unparalleled.

That was a lie. Kai, his younger brother, the billionaire entrepreneur, had a much nicer jet. Zee was a lowly multi-millionaire, executive film producer with little fame and a small fortune. It was a hollow existence. He yearned for… her face, when she looked at him in the lodge, like he had saved her from painful destruction. And Ethan, what a great kid. He had been so teachable, so eager to learn.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Zee reluctantly opened his eyes to Annie’s inquisitive stare. She had swiveled her chair around to face him, and tapped the keys of her laptop as she studied him.

“Yeah, right.” He shook his head. “No way. You’re not getting any material from me.”

“Too late. You’re a mega-hunk, who’s super wealthy, and in desperate need of some serious lovin’. Basically, you’re the hero in almost every romance novel. But—you’re the real deal. Like a documentary compared to a reality show.”

“Oh, that’s eloquent,” he said sarcastically.

“Eloquence isn’t my thing.” Annie tilted her chin down and smiled. “I’m a writer, not a fighter.”

Zee rested his hands in his lap. “Fighter?”

“It rhymes. Public speaker doesn’t flow.”

“Back to the hero thing.” Zee wished she would stop romanticizing him. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not all that. And I got all the lovin’ I can handle, thank you.”

Annie shrugged her shoulders. “You seemed eager to get to Tori’s house when you realized she was the widow you’d met in the lodge.”

“I’ve got too many other women pounding on my door to spend my time pining for her.”

“You talk macho, but you’re not like those Hollywood licentious knockoffs, unbound to law or any sense of ethics or morality.”

Zee blinked hard. “That’s harsh.”

“Sorry. I just don’t get into their self-love. You’re more caring than that—a big softy.”

“You’re wrong.” He shook his head. “I’m stubborn and mean.”

“Stubborn, perhaps, but you don’t have a mean bone in your body. None of the Terrences do. You’re all amazing.”

“You’re merely twitterpated with my cousin. Someday his halo will become a noose.” Maybe that was beneath Zee, to dis his cousin, but no man is perfect. She needed to stop pretending like some were.

“I’m smitten with him, for sure.” She raised her pointer finger in the air. “But, I stand by my conclusion. I have empirical data to support it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “And what, exactly, is this empirical data?”

“You left a lucrative career in Reality TV to produce documentaries, which barely pay for themselves. That puts you in the realm of an educator, a philanthropist, and a human rights activist.”

“Activist?” Zee did not consider himself an activist.

“Exactly. Like your documentary, Immigrants Work.”

“There are so many political scare tactics emerging around immigrants right now.” His voice faltered as his anger grew. “That’s why I commissioned the documentary, to dispel those misconceptions.”

“Great flic.”

“They’re the hardest workers I’ve met. They wake up at three in the morning, and then break their backs in the fields all day. And they’re extremely religious, and family oriented. The sacrifices that they’ve made would make Mother Theresa look like a slacker.”

“Your film had an amazing showing.” Annie leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “I was in tears three minutes in. Moving, absolutely moving.”

Annie had managed to climb inside Zee’s mind and scamper around. She seemed to grasp what he longed for, but he didn’t feel like he’d accomplished anything yet. He moaned out under his breath, “If only my voice could sing the melody of understanding and compassion.”

She touched his arm as her eyes welled. “That was beautiful.” She retracted quickly, excitement lighting her eyes. “I’m using it. Okay?”

“For what?”

“Our next project. When we come back this summer to interview refugees who’ve been relocated to Salt Lake City.”

My, she had a way of getting into things. He wasn’t going to allow her to wiggle her way in that easily. “Our project?”

“Well, yeah! I had lunch with a local administrator of refugee affairs on Monday.”

She was craftier than he had given her credit. “Annie, I’ve been coordinating this for two years.”

She lowered her eyes to the ground and then raised them back up to meet his. It was harder to say no to her than a starving, wet, naked child on the street. It was useless to argue. He couldn’t say no to her. Was it her innocent face and beseeching eyes? Or that she was now family, like an annoying kid sister.

“I get the book rights, and you do the documentary. I have the administrator’s contact info right here.” Annie scoured through her shoulder bag. “Shoot.” she stomped her foot. “Where did that go? It’s okay, I can look her up online.”

Zee gazed at her massive bag. “You could fit in that thing.”

“Ooh.” Annie held an ounce sized, chestnut bottle up in the air. “Look what I did find.”

“What’s that?”

“Essential oil. Here—give me your feet,” she said, grabbing his right foot and removing his shoe.”

“What are you doing, crazy lady?”

“Call me crazy in ten minutes. I dare you.”

“Ten minutes. Go.”

“When I bought this, I was taught all the secrets of essential oils.” She dotted her palm with oil, and, with serious concentration contorting her face, smoothed it into his bare foot.

“Your facial expressions crack me up.”

Annie dug her fingers deep into his heel. “Happy to oblige. I would bet that in your profession you’re around a plethora of Botox beauties who are physically incapable of utilizing their facial muscles.” Annie restricted the movement in her face as she spoke. “Psychologists call not showing emotion, or no facial expression, the flat effect.” Annie’s face remained perfectly still. “How’s my Botox-flat-face?”

Zee threw his head back in laughter. “You’re one funny lady.”

“Funny, not crazy. We’re making progress.”

“Keep massaging my feet, and we’ll see about progress.”

“You got it. I do owe you.”

“Don’t worry about the room.”

“Thanks, because I charged my spa treatment to my room.”

“Always wanted a kid sister.”

“Thanks, bro. Although, I’m not sure Meri’s going to like sharing the limelight.”

“Meri isn’t your typical kid sister. She can be frightening.”

Zee was only half-joking. Meri was a business woman to the core. Nothing was getting in her way, especially not her altruistic, artistic, elder brother.

A renewed energy seemed to zap through Annie. “When we come back to Salt Lake, I’ll be meeting with Tori again.”

Annie wasn’t giving up. She played the pestering younger sister beautifully.

He sighed. “Stop meddling.”

“She’s into you.”

“No, she’s not.” It would be a lot easier to erase Tori from his mind if Annie weren’t so dang persistent. “I asked her out. She turned me down. End of story.”

Annie stopped rubbing Zee’s foot, appearing slightly stunned. “Do you feel like a slug?”

He wiggled his toes to initiate more rubbing. “You think I’m snail-like?”

She shook her head, continuing the massage. “No. Snails have shells they can crawl into when they’re threatened or injured. A slug is naked. She’s vulnerable to any, and all, insults.”

“Now, I’m a female slug?”

“I’m the female slug.” Annie crossed her arms and sat back in her seat. “When I started writing, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. You wouldn’t believe how mean and biting some reviews can be.”

“It lends credibility.” Zee tried to sound upbeat. “There’s something fishy when a movie doesn’t get at least one good burn.”

“I know authors who refuse to read their reviews. They say it’s too damaging to their mental health. And these are successful authors.”

“I deal with the same thing in film.” That first critical review, void of art or expression, had sliced Zee, but it gained him additional viewers and reviews, positive reviews. He vowed to laugh in the face of critics. “Crummy side of being a slug. We’ll be fellow slugs in crime.”

“Let’s own it.” Annie raised her chin. “Word Bender, Film Maker: Slug’s the name, creating’s the game.”

Zee snapped his phone into a cord connected to the aircraft and tapped his screen. “Sometimes, we just don’t get no respect.”

She needed her spirits lifted. There was a song in his cue that would do the trick. It was impossible not to groove to that song. Should work on Annie. He started dancing in his chair as the music began. Aretha Franklin’s sultry voice boomed her need for respect.

“All I’m askin’,” Annie immediately chimed in, joining Zee in his dance.

Zee took a swig of his ginger ale as the song ended.

“You gotta share your zest for life.” Annie gave him a lively smile. “I don’t know how you could ever respect yourself, if you allowed Tori to slip away.”

His irritation rose, causing his body to stiffen. She was bordering on obnoxious. Definite kid sister syndrome. “Drop it.”

“Okay, but she’s seriously attracted you. I saw it.”

“You really think she likes me?” A renewed hope suddenly multiplied in his mind like uncensored celebrity gossip.

“A woman in love is often flustered. A widow in love is often apprehensive. You’ve got a flustered, apprehensive woman to woo.”

“What’s it gonna take to get you to stop matchmaking?”

“Hm.” Annie tapped her cheek with her pointer finger as she gazed out the window momentarily before turning back to him. “I’ll make you a deal. If you promise to think about how to woo a widow, I’ll rub your other foot without saying one more unsolicited word.”

Zee brought his right arm to shoulder height, with his elbow bent at a right angle. His pinky nail poked his thumb slightly as he covered the thumbnail and pressed it back. The Boy Scout oath, affirming duty to God and country, his fellow man, and self, ran through his mind as he held his three middle fingers upward and together. He then brought the promissory salute to his lips, signaling for her to remain silent.

She acknowledged his promise with a soft smile and resumed rubbing.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the essence of lavender and lemongrass oil saturating the cabin. Thoughts of Tori’s appreciative, heart-stopping face rekindled the dying embers—like he’d been leaking propane gas since he’d met her; and Annie clicked the sparker, causing Zee to become instantly engulfed in the fervid flames of lovesickness. Tori’s casual ease at that first chance encounter was different than his visit with her later that evening. She had been natural and confident. At her home, she was drenched in heavy perfume and make-up. She was still beautiful, but not quite as attractive to him.

Back at his hotel room that night, he had to air out his suit on the balcony to eliminate the powerful scent she had left on him. Why did women think that men liked the overkill, perfect façade? Zee wanted depth. Someone to travel the world with. Someone to share that vision of change with.

His mission suddenly became crystal clear.