“Guess that makes us like twins, eh, Hollie Porter?”
I blush again. “Man, I really did talk a lot the other night, didn’t I …”
“It’s okay. Your secret’s safe with me.”
His phone rings. When he answers, I want to tell him that he’s not supposed to drive and talk, but are the rules different in airplanes? As long as he keeps one hand on that funny steering wheel, I’ll be fine.
But it’s really, really dark out here now. It’s amazing how dark things are without the city lights to soak into the sky. Every few miles, a tiny spot of light will push its way through the void from a cabin or outpost along the shore. Compact wooden docks tether bobbing boats, their white sides just visible in the rising moon. Sometimes the little houses will have a floatplane out front, and as expected, no cars.
