would probably be a good investment,” I add, redirecting the conversation back on point.
“I think so too. I thought about asking the front office for a few suggestions for local companies. After Mid-Ohio is Portland, so I’d really like to have it by end of next week.” He turns off his truck and turns in the driver’s seat to face me. “Maybe we can check them out when we get back?”
“Sounds good,” I tell him, earning a smile in response. We just sit there for several seconds, gazing at each other. It feels comfortable, intimate even, but too soon the spell is broken.
“Well, we better get this truck unloaded and on board the plane. I bet Colton changes his mind about letting me bring Ollie along once he sees all the baby crap,” Mack says, as he slips out of his truck and heads to the back seat to unload. When he does, he misses my smile at the nickname he used when referring to his son. Ollie. I like it.
I hop out, ready to retrieve my own luggage, but find Mack already pulling it all out of the bed of the truck. Instead, I make myself useful and release the car seat holding a sleeping Oliver. “Let’s head over to the tarmac. I’ll come back for the rest of this stuff,” Mack says, walking toward the private jet with two bags in tow.
“Let me help you, sir,” the man beside the plane says.
Mack passes off the first two bags and says, “I have more. I’ll be back.”
“I’ll come with you, sir.”
Mack turns to me and points to the stairs. “Go ahead and take Oliver inside. I’ll be back as soon as we get loaded up.” And then he’s gone, leaving me standing beside a jet owned by one of IndyCar’s most famous race car drivers. Good times.
I glance up at the open door, wondering if I should just waltz in like I own the joint or wait until Mack gets back. I’m on the struggle bus right now with just walking aboard, but I’m not sure standing out here in the sun is the best bet for Oliver either.
“Are you joining us on this flight or just hanging back?”
I startle at the unfamiliar voice and whip around as quickly as I can, considering I’m holding a baby carrier. Standing right in front of me is the owner of the deep timbred voice. Colton Donavan.
He smiles. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” When I just stare at him, he finally asks, “You’re Lena, right? I assume you are, considering,” he adds, nodding toward the carrier.
“Oh, yes,” I stammer, reaching my hand forward. “Lena Stanley.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Lena. I’m Colton, but I guess by the look on your face, you already knew that,” he laughs. Colton waves his hand toward the baby carrier. “Do you mind if I help carry him up the stairs?”
I’m a little surprised and grateful at his offer. “Oh, sure. That would be great, thanks.”
“After you.”
I glance toward the parking lot and can see Mack and the other gentleman heading this way, their hands laden with more bags and supplies for the baby. Knowing he won’t be far behind me, I proceed to the stairs and board the jet, Mack’s boss hot on my heels. I find two more gentlemen already seated and chatting, one I recognize as the other driver on Colton’s team.
I head to the back, away from the men in conversation, hoping to be out of the way. Both acknowledge me with a head nod, but keep their conversation going. Colton sets the carrier in the middle of the row of seats and gives me a warm smile. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” I stammer, still a little shocked to be talking to the Colton Donavan. He nods and is immediately pulled into the conversation with the other gentlemen on board, so I busy myself with securing Oliver’s carrier in the seat.
“Hey, did you meet everyone?” Mack asks, glancing at the group of guys not too far away on the opposite side of the plane as he sets the diaper bag down on the empty seat beside the carrier.
“Oh, I met Colton outside, but the other two were busy,” I tell him as a few more board.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand and glancing down at the baby. “He’s sleeping so he should be fine for a few minutes.”
The warmth of his hand wrapped around mine sends tingles of awareness through my