The flight back to Los Angeles was unlike any corporate trip Jenna had taken in five years. Usually, she spent the forty-five-minute jump from Monterey to LAX buried in quarterly projections, her noise-canceling headphones a physical barrier between her and the world.
Today, the headphones stayed in her bag.
Jenna sat in the first-class cabin, her hand resting on the armrest. A few minutes into the flight, she felt a hesitant touch. Emma’s pinky finger hooked into hers, a silent question. Jenna didn't pull away; she turned her hand over and laced their fingers together.
"Maddie is going to have a heart attack," Emma whispered, leaning her head toward Jenna’s shoulder but stopping just short, still testing the boundaries of this new, fragile peace.
"Maddie is the one who orchestrated the collision," Jenna said, her voice regaining some of its melodic warmth. "She’ll likely demand a raise and an ‘I told you so’ plaque for her desk."
Emma chuckled, a sound that made Jenna’s chest tighten. It was a sound she had missed more than sleep. "She deserves it. I... I don't know how I’m going to walk back into that office in LA, Jen. Everyone sees me as the girl who lost her spark."
Jenna turned her head, her dark eyes pinning Emma with an intensity that was no longer cold. "Then we change the narrative. You’re not the girl who lost her spark. You’re the woman who found her fire. I’m moving the headquarters to the Arts District. I want a space that breathes. I want you to design it."
Emma’s eyes widened. "Jenna, that’s a multi-million dollar project. You’re trusting me with that?"
"I’m trusting you with the environment I have to live in every day," Jenna said. "If we’re going to do this, Emma, we’re doing it right. No more glass towers. No more obsidian desks. Build me something that feels like home."