“How about we ease back on the throttle?”

This was somewhere around Colton Hayes’ eight thousandth hour in the air so the fact that his student was hurtling them toward the runway in the flight school’s brand-new Cessna wasn’t overly concerning… yet.

Faith, a tiny Latino woman in her fifties who sat on a cushion to see over the instrument panel, overcompensated and half a dozen alarms went off in the cockpit.

“Oops!” She gentled her touch on the throttle and eased it forward until the alarms stopped screeching.

“Very nice,” Colton told her, loosening his death grip on the door. It made students more nervous when he grabbed the yoke in a panic. The turquoise blue waters of St. Pete Beach glimmered under the plane’s belly as Faith lined them up on the runway. Colton kept his hands loose and ready in his lap should he need to take control. “You’ve got this. Just skim over it and act like you’re not going to land. And watch out for that sailboat mast.”

Albert Whitted Airport was tucked away on the edge of the Port of St. Petersburg and many boat captains weren’t aware of its existence… until a small plane scared the hell out of them.

Faith grinned and cracked her gum, treating her first solo landing like it was just another day. “You got it, boss.”

They bumped and bounced a little on touchdown but overall, it was an excellent first landing.

“Nicely done,” Colton told her through the headset.

Faith whooped and did a little shimmy in her seat as she taxied down the tarmac. She parked—crookedly—but in the right general area and popped her headset off. She whipped out her tidy little notebook, wet a finger, and flipped through to the appropriate page. “Solo landing?” She crossed it off with a flourish of her pencil.

Colton high-fived her. “Suck it cancer!”

Faith came to him eight months ago with a new cancer diagnosis and a bucket list. While her cancer had been kicked to the curb officially as of last month, fly a plane had been upgraded to earn pilot’s license.

They ran through the post-flight checklist carefully before he released her to her nervous husband, Al, who sat in the waiting room and prayed the rosary while Faith was in the air. Al picked her up mid-stride and twirled her around on the tarmac.

Life was short. And no one knew it better than the Delgados.

“Thanks, Colt,” Faith said, beaming at him with her arm wrapped firmly around Al’s waist.

“Anytime,” he grinned. “Going for ice cream?”

“You bet! Wanna come?” Al offered.

“Nah, not today,” Colton told them. “I’ve got plans.”

Faith raised an eyebrow. “Mm-hmm. She say yes yet?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Not yet.” Colton had spent the last eight months pursuing the bartender/night manager at Sunset Point, an open-air dive bar a short walk from the airport. The bar had a killer view of St. Pete’s two best attractions: the daily sunset that turned the sky to an artist’s canvas and McKinley.

Faith patted his arm. “You’ll wear her down. I believe in you.”

The Delgados left, arm in arm, and Colton tied down the plane and gave it another once over. He’d thought briefly of taking it back up for a short solo. Some folks meditated, some prayed, Colton flew. There was something peaceful, almost spiritual about feeling the earth drop away beneath him, being suspended between ocean and clouds.

But tonight, he wanted his feet firmly on the ground and his ass on a bar stool with a view of the prettiest, sharp-tongued bartender in the city.

He headed into the flight school office and handed over the headsets at the desk. “How’d she do?” Talia asked. Talia was the no-nonsense office manager for the airport. Even she’d developed a soft spot for Faith.

“One of the best firsts I’ve seen,” Colton said, filling out the plane rental paperwork.

“Think she’ll get her license?”

“Nothing’s gonna stop her,” he said, sliding the clipboard over the counter to her.

“Speaking of, you trying for your 900th shoot down tonight?” Talia’s brown eyes sparkled.

It wasn’t a secret that he had a thing for McKinley. It had become a bit of a sport for his co-workers watching him get turned down at the bar time after time.

“She can’t say yes if I stop asking,” Colton said with a good-natured shrug.

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed giving him the side-eye.

“Where’s Walt?”

“Where do you think?” Talia said, waving a heavily ringed hand toward the hallway. Colton headed in the same direction and soon caught the sound of soft snores. He poked his head into the observation lounge. It was a bright, sunny room with a large window facing the runway. And curled on a luxury bed that Talia and the rest of the staff had chipped in for was Walter the rescue beagle. At nine, he wasn’t quite as obese as he had been when Colton found him sad-eyeing him from the confines of his cage at St. Pete’s Animal Rescue. There were slightly fewer neck rolls now and his belly no longer wobbled like gelatin. But he was still hefty for his breed.

“Walt,” Colton said, nudging the dog bed with his toe.

The dog grumbled, but his white tipped tail thumped out a lazy beat.

“Come on buddy. Let’s go back to the hangar and then I’ll take you home.”

On the word home, Walter’s bloodshot eyes opened. Home meant dinner and maybe a romp around the backyard before Animal Planet.

“Let’s go,” Colton said, patting his thighs. “Come on!”

Walter grumbled and heaved himself up. He gave a stretch accompanied by a doggie groan and padded after his master.

“See ya tonight, Talia,” Colton called on his way out.

“Bye, Colt. Bye, Walt.”