Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

I don’t think I’d ever seen Charles this speechless.

He stood in the middle of the hangar, looking around like he’d stepped into another dimension. His eyes bounced from the Cessna parked at the far end, to the control panels, to me… like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t even know existed.

“You’re telling me,” he started, arms crossed but mouth twitching with disbelief, “that you know how to fly that.”

“That,” I corrected smugly, zipping up my flight jacket, “and a few others. But yeah. That one’s my favorite.”

“You have a favorite plane,” he echoed, like the words themselves offended him.

I threw him a wink as I walked past to start the pre-flight checks. “Don’t act like you don’t have a favorite track our a favorite car."

He muttered something in French that I couldn’t catch, and when I looked over my shoulder, he was still just… standing there. Like he couldn’t decide if this was the coolest or most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed.

“You coming?” I called out, not expecting him to say yes.

But then he did.

“I’m coming with you.”

I blinked. “Wait, really?”

He shrugged like it was nothing, but the tightness in his jaw gave him away. “Arthur’s my brother. And you’re not flying into that thing alone.”

God. He was serious.

“You sure about that? You looked like you were about to call it a day and go home two minutes ago.”

“I’m still considering it,” he said, trying to sound casual, but I caught the edge of nerves in his voice. “But I’ll take my chances.”

I grinned and climbed into the cockpit. “Suit yourself.”

-----

By the time we were up in the air, Charles was gripping the seat like it owed him money.

“You okay over there?” I asked through my headset, trying not to laugh as I adjusted the throttle.

His voice came out high-pitched and extremely unconvincing. “I’m fine.”

“Right. That’s why your handprint is permanently embedded in the armrest.”

He shot me a glare, but I caught the flicker of a smile. “This is just… not what I expected when I woke up today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll take you mini-golfing instead.”

“Mini-golf doesn’t involve the possibility of plummeting to our deaths, Amy.”

“You literally drive a missile on wheels"

“It’s different!”

“How?” I teased. “Because you’re in control when it’s a Ferrari?”

“Exactly!”

I laughed so hard I almost forgot to switch frequencies. After a few more minutes, he started to loosen up. His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned toward the window, eyes wide with something closer to wonder than fear.

“Wow,” he said softly. “It’s… beautiful up here.”

I glanced at him. His hair was a mess from the headset, and the sunlight spilled across his face in soft gold streaks. It hit me all at once—how utterly ridiculous and completely endearing this whole moment was.