Happy spring!
I had way too much fun writing this.
Red-Eye Rendezvous is what happens when two people who’ve wanted each other for fifteen years end up alone on a private jet with nowhere to hide.
It starts in New Haven, then spreads to Seattle, New York and Dubai.
Until one flight to Prague changes everything.
There’s a wedding, a castle, a group of friends who saw this coming for years. Once these two finally give in, they don’t stop.
At all.
You’ve already met Skylar in Hushed Harmony. Smart. Controlled. Unshakeable.
Zach is the one person who’s always seen straight through her.
If you love:
- friends who should have figured it out years ago
- forced proximity with no escape
- Sexual tension that finally snaps
This one is going to hit.
Don’t believe me? Here’s a little excerpt to change your mind…
Prologue – Skylar
Fifteen Years Ago
Zachary Bennett’s knee rests alongside mine under the table.
Not by accident. Or coincidence.
I make a conscious decision not to move away. Sure, I could pretend it means nothing, but my choice to stay put settles agreeably inside my bones.
He’s shooting his shot. Or, I’m shooting mine.
Finally.
Doesn’t matter if it’s the last Thursday we’ll all be together. On a night where every laugh lands a little sharper because we’re about to scatter to different destinations. Tonight’s about living our best law school life one last time before we go.
It’s bittersweet. I’m going to miss my friends. At the same time, I’ve longed for this moment for years.
Duffy’s, an old New Haven Irish pub, is packed wall to wall with law students burning off unbearable pressure. Most of us wear the same uniform of hoodies layered under worn jackets. Denim rubbed pale at the knees. Scuffed boots crunching peanuts on a floor slick with beer.
The jukebox plays classic rock songs everyone half-knows. Laughter ricochets off wood-paneled walls darkened by decades of handprints. Duffy’s smells like hops and fryer oil, and is characteristically loud and insistent.
This place refuses to let us leave quietly.
Julian Hart sprawls on the bench, long legs fully stretched, one arm slung along the back. His blond hair sticks up in defiant directions. He’s always been large in every sense of the word. Big man. Boisterous laugh. Ginormous opinions. Huge presence.
He pulls people into orbit without trying.
Across from him, his girlfriend, Marisol Vega rests on her forearms. Black jeans hug her long legs, a battered leather jacket is crumpled beside her. Her startling blue eyes miss nothing. Marisol arrived at Yale with intention to kick ass and never pretended otherwise.
Irving Brooks sits to my left, compact and composed, nursing his beer with thoughtful patience. Irv listens more than he speaks. He always has. He sees patterns before anyone else names them, then waits to see whether the rest of us catch up. Usually with great aplomb.
Zach’s to my right, wearing his usual dark sweater, worn jeans and sneakers scuffed at the toes. His black hair falls forward, and he constantly pushes it back with two fingers without thinking. He’s always calm. Even now, surrounded by noise and endings. The man carries himself like someone who understands how the world works without even trying.
As for me, I’m always trying to fit in with my cool friends. Intense and a tad neurotic, I try to disguise this fact by cultivating a polished, refined demeanor. Unfortunately, I’m rarely successful. Mostly because I have a hard time containing my expressions if I’m annoyed.
In any case, we all became best friends by accident.
First semester, first week, five of us ended up trapped in the same 1L study group by a scheduling mishap and mutual exhaustion. Torts on Monday mornings. Contracts on Tuesdays. Civ Pro looming Wednesday afternoon.
Julian filled the silence with bravado. Marisol challenged every assumption. Irving spoke once everyone else ran out of air. Zach listened. I asked questions nobody wanted to ask out loud.
Somehow, we clicked and our friendship has been the best thing about law school, at least for me.
Together the five of us have survived oral arguments and panic attacks during legal writing deadlines, We’ve passed course outlines back and forth with coffee rings stamped along the margins. One night during second year, the power went out in the library during a storm and we defiantly finished studying by phone light, laughing harder than the situation deserved.
Above all, we’ve consistently chosen each other over the grind.
These four people are my best friends for life and I love them dearly, despite their flaws.
Julian’s hyper attention to detail drives me nuts. Marisol us ultra snarky when a deadline looms. Irving frustratingly disappears into thought for thirty minutes then returns with brilliant clarity to leave us all in the dust. Zach tedious steadiness, no matter how stressful the situation, is hard to live up to.
No matter what, they’re my de facto family.
I look around at all of them while my knee stays molded to Zach’s.
I don’t move. He doesn’t either.
Julian lifts his glass first. “Last Thursday. After this, we’re doomed to a life of full-time adulting.”
“Pretending to be adults.” Marisol clinks her glass to his with deliberate ceremony.
Irving lifts his beer in a small salute. “Speak for yourself.”
Zach and I hold our beers up as well. The familiar laughter of my best friends knocks something in my chest. This moment between this exact constellation of people will never exist again.
“One more round.” Julian thumps the table, rattling our drinks. “We need a toast to whatever comes next.”
The bartender knows us well and passes us fresh pints of Guinness without asking. Foam settles. Condensation runs down the glass. I take a sip and let the bitter taste coat my tongue.
Conversation drifts easily, as it always does with us. Tonight, mostly focused on the dread of bar exam prep. Apartments. New jobs. The quiet terror of being set loose in the world without a syllabus.
Julian and Marisol speak about New York with confidence, certain they’ll thrive there as a couple. Zach will be there too, even if he hasn’t fully committed yet. Irving’s future points west, tech deals and startups in San Francisco and Silicon Valley. Seattle waits for me, quieter and farther away, chosen on purpose.
Zach’s knee angles a fraction harder against mine.
“You’re quiet,” he says, low enough for only me.
“Taking it in.”
“Smart.”
I smile. “Habit.”
His gaze lingers, not heated or hungry. Present. Steady. Giving nothing away. Attention generous enough to blur lines without crossing any.
Admittedly, even if I can’t relate, his demeanor is one of the things I adore most about him. How careful he is. Deliberate.
It’s also maddening. I’m never quite sure where I stand.
I think of growing up in my parents’ house, filled with drama and voices sharpened like scythes during the constant fights. Money made everything louder. Eventually, lawyers turned love into leverage and promises broke under scrutiny. During their divorce, I learned early how easily permanence fractures.
I’m returning home to Seattle because I want to do things differently. After the bar, I’ll start at Finney Cooper, a prestigious law firm with a great client base. I plan to prove family law doesn’t have to mean scorched earth or victories tallied in damage. It can mean protecting children and keeping something beautiful intact when possible.
Ultimately, I want to be the kind of lawyer who lowers voices instead of escalating them. Who treats families as if they’re worth preserving, even when they’re breaking apart.
Julian slaps the table again. “We’re never going to be together as students again.” His grin falters for half a beat before he recovers. “We should do something memorable.”
“Define memorable.” Marisol arches a brow.
Irving shakes his head. “Nothing good will come of this.”
“Smoke break.” Julian ignores him.
Marisol squints. “None of us smoke.”
“Metaphorical.”
And so we all spill onto the sidewalk, breath fogging. Julian and Marisol gallop down the block, hand-in-hand, already bickering about cabs and neighborhood bars we’re about to conquer. Irving lingers long enough to meet my eyes, a quiet smile passing between me then Zach before he turns and follows them without further comment.
The door to Duffy’s swings shut behind us, muting the noise. The quiet is strangely jarring.
“I’m sad this is ending.” I turn toward him as we amble behind.
He nods. “Well, everything runs its course, so they say.”
“Yeah, well. I hate endings.” I tug my jacket closed around myself.
“Me too.”
We stop under a streetlight. He faces me fully, hands in his pockets. I’ve known this man for three years. The emotions I’ve kept hidden are more dangerous tonight than ever before.
“You’re going to be incredible.” He smiles.
“So are you.”
Silence settles between us. Weighted. Honest.
“We won’t have this anymore.” I drag the toe of my boot through grit on the sidewalk, watching the pale line vanish almost as soon as it appears. “Study sessions. Random dinners. Nights here at the pub.”
Julian’s laugh floats from farther up the block, unchecked. Marisol’s gleeful cackle cuts through it. Irving lifts an arm and flags a cab without missing a beat.
“No. We won’t.” Zach steps closer. Enough to narrow the night to what stands between us.
I look up. His attention holds mine. Steady. Unreadable. Refusing to offer permission or retreat.
Until, a kiss lands firm and exact, stealing my breath before I can prepare for it. His hand settles at my waist. Not tentative or urgent. Authoritative. He holds me in place to keep me anchored.
My balance settles and my lips answer without thinking, opening and letting it deepen. My fingers twist into the fabric of his hoodie, gathering it tight. His mouth moves with mine, control loosened by restraint finally released. The years between this moment and the day we met dissolve under desire and heat.
Time stretches without permission. My body lines up with his, instinct taking over where caution usually lives. Nothing about this is borrowed or reckless. Our kiss carries familiarity layered with something new.
Something chosen.
He draws back only enough to breathe. His forehead rests on my temple but his hand stays locked at my waist. His thumb nudges once. Deliberate. A signal meant to be remembered.
“Cab’s here,” Julian calls, snapping us back to reality.
Marisol whistles.
Zach releases me and reaches for my hand, fingers closing around mine without pause.
We jog to catch up, laughter breaking free as we reach them. Julian slings an arm around Zach’s shoulders. Marisol loops her arm through mine. We pile in the cab, knees knocking, coats brushing, breath uneven. Irving scoots over to make room.
Julian names the next bar, which is fairly close. Marisol agrees. Irving nods. Once the door shuts, the driver pulls out and the city of New Haven blurs past the windows.
Zach repositions so his leg crowds mine, stupidly intentional now. His arm snakes along the back of the seat, close enough to claim space without crowding me overtly. I scoot closer, purposefully, because this could be our last chance to tilt the dynamic between us.
Release day is coming — preorder here.
With love,
Kaylene
