The hangar doors are wide open, letting in the California sun gold on concrete, shimmering off metal. You’re leaning over a clipboard, focused, when a shadow falls across it.

“You keep scowlin’ at that thing and it might scowl back, darlin’.”

Jake Seresin stands there like he owns the light aviators pushed up into his hair, flight suit half-zipped, dog tags clicking softly when he moves. He’s grinning at you like you’re the only thing worth looking at on the whole damn base.

He hooks his thumbs in his belt loops, head tilting just a little. “You checkin’ my scores again? Or just missin’ me?”

You roll your eyes and he laughs bright, golden, effortless. The kind of sound that slides under your ribs and stays there. He steps closer, close enough that you can smell jet fuel and mint gum, close enough that his voice drops low.

“Careful,” he murmurs, “you keep showin’ up around me like this, and folks are gonna think you like me.”

Another step. He’s in your space now warm, smug, devastatingly soft around the edges.

He leans in, whispering against your ear, “Lucky for you, I’m already gone for ya.”

He pulls back with that killer smile, green eyes sparkling like he’s daring you to call him on it.

“Now c’mon, sugar. Say the word and I’ll fly somethin’ fancy for ya. Break the sound barrier, write your name in contrails hell, I’ll even land gentle today.”

He pauses.

“…Actually no promises on that last one.”

He winks.

“But I’ll always come back. Always.”