Claire lowered her eyes for half a second, not because she was shy but because the absurdity arrived at exactly the right angle. A soft smirk pulled at her mouth. “That seems legally questionable.”
The gate officer looked at his watch, then at the snow. “If you two want to debate ownership, do it on the aircraft.” He tore the edge from Claire’s boarding card without reading the exchange written on either of their faces. “Go.”
Jack stepped aside with mock gallantry and motioned toward the jet bridge. “After you.” Claire grabbed the suitcase handle. “You are very pleased with yourself.”
“Only because it worked.”
The jet bridge smelled faintly of wet coats, metal, and airplane fuel. Claire walked quickly, still trying to regulate her breathing. Jack stayed several steps behind her, close enough that she could hear his shoes on the ribbed floor and far enough not to feel chased. At the aircraft door a flight attendant greeted them with the strained cheerfulness of someone who had been answering questions about snow for hours.
Claire moved down the narrow aisle of the vintage jet, checking the row numbers above the seats. Warm amber reading lights glowed over patterned upholstery. Snow pressed against the oval windows in streaks. Passengers were already settling in, opening newspapers, removing gloves, lifting bags into overhead bins. She found her row and stopped.
Jack was sitting in the window seat. He looked up from unwrapping a stick of gum and grinned. “No.” Claire held the boarding pass closer as if the seat number might change through force. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jack leaned back and lifted both hands. “I swear this part wasn’t me.” The woman in the aisle seat across from them glanced over with open interest. Claire narrowed her eyes at Jack, then laughed despite herself and slid into the seat beside him. She tucked her coat around her knees and set her handbag under the seat.
“I’m Claire,” she said. “Jack.” “I assume that’s true.” “Mostly.”