Takeoff... those Clothes
The aftermath of Jesse’s party clung to Ari’s senses, a haze of perfume, spilled beer, and leftover laughter that seemed to chase them from the bar to the SUVs, and now here—onto the tarmac at Montreal’s smaller airstrip. She felt it pressing close, a reminder that even when the music stopped, this life never really quieted.
At the base of the jet’s staircase, Matt, Cliff, and Gunnar clustered together, ticking off names like clockwork. Ari barely noticed the mechanics of it; her eyes had gone straight to the stairs, to the plane looming above them. Even the warm smile on Vicky’s face, ushering everyone aboard with a practiced ease, couldn’t untangle the knot already tightening in her chest.
Inside, the cabin looked nothing like the sleek luxury she’d once imagined private flights to be. It was a moving village—children scattering instinctively to their places, voices weaving into the fabric of the space. Romeo curled into a seat across the aisle, Meatball already asleep with his chin on the boy’s knees. Jake sat nearby with Lily tucked into her car seat, her wide-eyed wonder catching the overhead lights.
Carol and John were chatting with Stephanie in the back, Desiree kicked off her shoes with a sigh, Gunnar and Nicole leaned close together a row behind Tico and Lema, who were already deep in conversation. It was all so familiar, so normal for them—and for Ari, so foreign.
Her hand was already clamped tight to the armrest, knuckles white against the soft leather. Every rumble of the engines vibrated in her ribs. She hated this part—hated the way it reminded her of how little control she had once the wheels left the ground.
Jon leaned close, wine still warm on his breath. “You ready?” he whispered, as though his voice alone could steady her.
She forced her fingers to loosen, reaching for him. His hands were steady, certain, the only anchor she trusted.
Then he started to sing. Quiet, playful, his voice wrapping around her like a private cocoon:
“When the moon hits your eye
Like a big-a pizza pie
That’s amore
When the world seems to shine
Like I’ve had too much wine
That’s amore…”
She laughed, the sound surprising her, escaping through the tightness in her chest. His voice was half-lounge singer, half-inebriated Dean Martin—but it was him, and it was hers, and for a moment that mattered more than the altitude waiting ahead. With Jon’s words drifting over her, she could almost believe they weren’t about to leave the earth at all.
When the plane leveled, she realized her pulse had steadied, the roar softened into a hum she could breathe through. The lights dimmed, voices dropped to a murmur, and Ari let herself lean into Jon’s shoulder, her cheek against the familiar slope of him. Across the aisle, Jake’s voice rose gently as he read to Lily, her tiny face glowing in the half-light. The sight settled something deep inside her.
Sleep came quietly, carried on the rhythm of Jon’s breathing.
When she stirred again, Vicky was announcing their descent into Teterboro. The shift in the cabin was immediate—blankets folded, earbuds pulled free, the well-practiced shuffle of a family forever in motion. Ari watched it with a strange fondness. It wasn’t glamorous, not really. It was lived-in, worn like a favorite jacket: the kind of rhythm only years together could create.
The door opened, and cool evening air rushed in, sharp with the tang of jet fuel. The group spilled onto the tarmac, goodbyes murmured over idling engines and the low thrum of logistics.
Carol swept her family together with ease, corralling grandkids, husband, and friends in the same breath. Her voice held both command and comfort as she handed out hugs and quiet reminders to behave. Ari’s throat tightened at the sight—at how love could be so orderly, so constant.
Desiree slipped Lily from her arms, soft smile steady as she reassured Ari again that she didn’t mind keeping the baby overnight. “Go,” she insisted gently. “Take the time. You need it.” Ari knew she was right, even if letting go—even for a night—left her arms aching.
With the last bags stowed, Matt kissed his wife one more time, asking for the promise he always asked for: call the moment you’re home safe. Familiar words, familiar gesture, the tap to the roof as he sent them off. Ari’s chest ached again, but this time with something warmer—recognition, maybe, of the small rituals that made all the goodbyes survivable.
They weren’t dramatic, because they didn’t need to be. Love here was steady, practical, a rhythm she was only just learning to trust.
As the SUVs rolled away and the engines faded into the night, Ari stood with the others near the stairs. The plane behind them hummed, patient and waiting. Ahead lay Raleigh. But for now, in this brief pause between departures, Ari let herself breathe, anchored by the quiet, by Jon’s hand still twined with hers.
♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱
The hotel lobby buzzed with quiet conversation as they were greeted by Jeanie, who held their key cards and schedules for the following day. Some of crew and band members were already gathered for a late dinner in the restaurant. Plans for drinks and food had been made back in Teterboro.
Ari and Jon had already opted out.
Matt escorted them to their suite, keycard in hand. At the door, he paused.
“Checkout is one,” he said. “Vans leave at twelve forty-five.”
Jon nodded. “Don’t knock before twelve thirty.”
“Will do. Have a good night.’
“Thanks,” Jon smirked. “Behave, we’ve got a show tomorrow.”
“Same to you.” Matt waved his brother off and disappeared down the hall.
Inside, the suite was dim and still, a sharp contrast to the day’s noise and motion. Ari didn’t say a word. She toed off her boots and made a beeline for the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of running water echoed and steam had already begun the drift from the open door.
[10:36 pm] Jesse: Thanks for a fun few days.
[10:40 pm] Ma: We made it home. See ya tomorrow night.
He smiled, thumbed out a quick reply, and set the phone down on the nightstand.
Then with a grin, he peeled off his clothes and crossed the room towards the bathroom. The steam escaping through the cracked door hinted at the warmth— and the welcome—waiting on the other side. He paused, then pushed the door open and stepped into a world of swirling vapor and familiar scent.
“Need help.” He murmured.
She tilted her head slightly, a slow smile spreading across her face.
That was all the invitation he needed.
He stepped into the shower, the warm spray falling like a curtain in the steam-filled space built for two. Water streamed down her body, dark chocolate curls plastered to her back—a soft contrast to the olive tone of her neck.
Reaching out, he traced the line of her spine, marveling at the way it dipped inward at her lower back, just above the tattoo she’d gotten last year—Avere Fede. Have Faith.
From behind, he drew closer, the heat of his chest meeting her wet skin. His hands slid around her waist, fingers resting on the gentle swell of the tiny life growing insider her as soft kisses found the back of her neck—no rush, no urgency, just quiet reverence.
“You feel good,” he whispered against her ear.
“So do you,” she rasped arching slightly, the movement pressing her more fully against him.
“That’s how much I want you.”
Her breath caught.
“I want you more.”
She turned in his arms, her hands splayed over his chest. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. Their tongues met, dancing a slow, sensual ballet. The water beat against their skin, a rhythmic counterpoint to the escalating rhythm of their breaths. She broke the kiss, gasping for air.
“Be right back,” she rasped.
Her fingernails scraped lightly across his chest as she slowly knelt in front of him, water cascading down her spine. Slowly, she traced the deep grooves of his hips, where muscle dipped lower, every breath a whisper, every inch a promise.
Jon’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening, chest rising with a sharp inhale. Her breath was fire and friction, every nerve of his body waking up to the feel of her. Steam curled around them, thick and heady, turning the air into something almost tangible.
The rest of the world faded, the edges blurring until there was nothing but her mouth, her hands— the way she made him forget where he was.
He sank one hand into her soaked curls, anchoring himself to the only thing that felt real. The other arm braced against the slick wall behind her, searching for balance as his head tipped back with a low, helpless groan.
Time unraveled, stretching into something soft and infinite, measured only in the shallow breaths between them and the soft slap of water against skin. She paused, just for a second, looking up at him with a smile that was equal parts challenge and devotion.
It undid him.
When she finally rose, his hands found her again, guiding her back into his arms pulling her close like he couldn’t bear even a second of distance. Their bodies met in a slow slick press.
Mouths crashing together—hungry, grateful, reverent. Teeth clashed. Fingers gripped. Her laugh broke against his lips, wild and breathless.
No words needed.
Just heat.
Just need.
Just them.
Sigh.....so romantic💜
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