his face—“you said yourself you didn’t really love her.”
Was this a test of whether or not he loved Zoe? Because if it was, Oliver wouldn’t fail. But, damn it, he didn’t want to take that ride. “This is crazy.”
“I’m crazy,” she assured him with a ridiculous amount of pride. “I’m a lunatic who loves to get up in the air and be completely untethered. And that’s where I want to be with you when I tell you…something.”
That something he needed to hear.
He searched her face, hating that he could already feel himself giving in. How did she do this to him? He couldn’t say no to her. One kiss, one touch, one laugh, one time, and he was gone. “God, I love you.”
“Is that a yes?” She tightened her grip. “Please say yes.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
She tilted her head, that serious look darkening her eyes again. “Actually, I don’t think you do.”
“You’re testing me. And you know damn well I have never met a test I didn’t ace.”
“I’m not testing you, Oliver. I’m testing me.” She put her finger on his lips, holding his gaze. “And I want to do it on my turf.”
“Which happens to be three thousand feet off the ground.”
“Think of it as three thousand feet closer to the sun. Please?”
It was just enough to push him over an edge he knew he’d tumble over anyway.
He gave up the fight as a few guys—who looked as young and inexperienced as Zoe—came over to greet them. During the next half hour Zoe was in her element, and Oliver was in denial.
The fan blew the massive nylon balloon up to four stories high, until they were all dwarfed by its magnitude. When it was big enough, they attached what looked like really rickety burners, which blasted enough heat that the whole thing started to bounce a little—like Zoe in her strappy sandals and ruffled skirt that danced around her ankles.
“Let’s go!” She grabbed his hand and they got into the basket, high-fived a few of their crew, and then there was more choreography of burners and sandbags and a great deal of waving and cries of “Good luck,” which he hoped to hell they didn’t need.
And then they were off, the ground drifting farther away, the gondola, as she called the basket, swinging like a heart-stopping pendulum, and the air thinner with each passing second.
Or maybe that was just Oliver having a tough time breathing.
He gripped the wicker rim, refusing to look down. Instead he watched Zoe fine-tune the burners and dance with the wind, as he tried to pretend he was paying attention and not mentally writing his last will and testament.
“Listen,” she whispered as she twisted a valve. “Listen to that.”
Silence. Complete and total silence.
“Nice,” he admitted, relaxing a little as a slight breeze lifted them over a golf course and toward a lake, the residential developments of suburban Chicago fading into a quilt work of farms in rural Illinois about fifteen hundred feet below.
Wordlessly, Zoe and Oliver came together, folding into each other’s arms like it was as natural as breathing.
“You okay?” she asked.
He nodded, lowering his face for a kiss. “Is this the part when we get to drink that champagne?” he asked, nodding toward the bottle that one of the ground crew had tossed in at the very last minute.
“Oh, that’s not for us,” she told him. “That’s in case we land on someone’s property. It’s tradition for the balloon pilot to offer champagne to the people to thank them for letting them land there.”
“In other words you don’t have any idea where you’re going to land.”
“That, my darling, is the story of my life.” She took a deep, deep breath and closed her eyes. “You ready?”
“For anything. Except jumping.”
“Well, you might want to when I tell you this.”
He searched her face, taking time to appreciate the fine bones and soft skin, the deep bow in her upper lip, the bottle-green eyes that tipped up at the sides and sparkled when she smiled. But it wasn’t Zoe’s external beauty that had wrapped around his heart and squeezed the life out of him. It was her spirit, her laugh, her willingness to give everything to every situation.
“Nothing you could tell me would make me want to jump,” he said.
“All right.” Her chest rose and fell with each strained breath. She eased out of his arms and steadied herself by holding on to the wicker edge, the rising sun silhouetting her. “My name’s not really