Q is for . . .
Peter was concerned the helicopter to QUEENSTOWN would make Charles airsick, and by all indications it nearly did. “Bus next time,” Charles had half gasped upon stumbling free. “Or just a regular plane.”
“Better view from the ‘copter,” said Peter, adding with a wry twist of his lips, “though I’m not sure you saw much of it.”
Charles turned narrowed eyes to him, and for the first time since their having met over a year before Peter thought he might have caught traces of active dislike in his lover’s expression. But it was gone so swiftly, Peter couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it as Charles turned his squint toward the terminal building as if looking for a further exit, some additional distance between himself and the offending helicopter.
“Come on, then,” said Peter, shouldering his bag. They’d only brought enough for two, three days at the outside, having left the majority of their luggage back in Dunedin, though Peter was already wishing he’d planned a longer stay. Then, with a glance at Charles, he thought it might be just as well they wouldn’t be long.
“We’ll take a coach back,” Peter promised as they strode across the tarmac. “In the meantime, maybe some time on the lake will be more to your liking.”